The Twenty-Second Hunger Games: Close Your Eyes
by Glossy-12
Summary: When you watch your friend, your child, your sibling fall in that arena you will just have to watch. You have to watch, only the tributes get to close their eyes. 24 Author 24 Tribute Collaboration!
1. Prolouge

**A/N (Glossy): I know that my other story is still young, so this one will not be beginning for a little while, but I wanted to start the submission process. I plan to get the Reapings up by New Years so that we will be entering the Games about when Fallen Leaves is wrapping up. If you had a career last time, you may not have one again, and you may not have a tribute from the same district. Submit using the form on my profile.**

**Danus Nichalson, 42**

**Head Gamemaker**

My final year. Twenty years of Games and I haven't disappointed the president yet. Deciding to retire was probably my best. This will be my final, and I have been working on this arena for a very long time.

A sharp rap on the door brings me to my senses.

"Hello Mr. President." Looking at the sixteen year old boy is ridiculous. I can't believe that his father entrusted him to

"Please Danus. Call me Coriolanus. Can you show me what you have in store for the tributes this year?"

"Of course." My fingers run across the monitor and the arena comes up. The swamp shows on the monitor with the ocean to one side and the forest to the other.

"Wow Danus. This is some of your best work. The abundance of water sure will keep them alive long. What have you stocked the cornucopia with."

"I have placed water filters and basic survival gear. There are flippers, diving goggles, and of course kayaks and paddles for the tributes to get around the arena with."

"Excellent. Would you mind explaining the arena to me?"

"Of course. The cornucopia is in the swamp which makes up most of the arena. In the water here, there are barracuda mutts, sting rays, and various water snakes. There are other fish to hunt, but the real dangers are on the beach. There is plenty of food in the water, but it comes with a tradeoff. We have shark mutts out in the water. The forest is home to a pack of wolves which we can call to tributes we need. As for the arena, the majority is the swamp. You can see the small waterways running through the swamp. A tribute who learns how to use these passages will be able to jump from one side of the arena to another very quickly. The sand dunes on the beach are safe, but exposed. The forest is probably the most dangerous place to be. The tributes will be drawn there and of course so will the action."

"Excellent Danus. I look forward to seeing the crop of tributes."

"Goodbye Mr. President."

He walks out of the room and I add my final touch to the arena. I have to make it surprising even for him.


	2. District 1 Reaping: Surprise Turnout

**A/N (Glossy): **This chapter is kind of different, but I like it. Feel free to do something like this in the future. Also, it looks like we may have some dropouts. Both from 2 and 4 appear to have dropped out, but I am not positive yet. I will get back to you all tomorrow with the final update.

**Blaze's POV**

My eyes are closed, but I know that I am not going to get any more sleep tonight, so I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I have never been so excited in my life, and I simply cannot force myself to sleep. Instead, I get up and don my reaping outfit. I spent two whole days shopping around before I finally found the perfect suit for the perfect day.

It's still dark outside, so I take a walk to calm my nerves. The town is still dark and quiet as I make my way through the streets. I pass the training academy where only a few days ago, I had auditioned for the position of this year's tribute.

In District 1, to make things go smoother on reaping day, it is customary to announce your intention to volunteer beforehand. Tryout sessions are held at the academy in the week leading up to reaping day. All who think they are worthy to represent the district are welcome to audition, but, in the end, the mentor is the one who gets final say on which volunteer he or she wants to take to the games.

I was already the top of my class, but my flawless volunteer tryout session and the subtle hints that the mentor has been slipping out this week all indicate that I will be the one chosen this year. From what I've heard, it's Pearl who will be the female tribute, and I think we will make a great team.

I decide that I should pay her a visit as soon as it becomes a decent visiting hour.

I continue walking down the street until I reach the square. Soon enough, it will be filled with thousands of people craning their necks to get a view of me making my way up to the stage. Hardly able to help myself, I walk up to the stage in the darkness, imagining all the people cheering me on. Using the moon's beam as my spotlight, I look out at my imaginary audience.

I can hardly believe that this will actually be happening today.

I look up at the moon and mentally will it to go down, so that the new day can begin. This was starting to become one of the longest days of my life, and the sun hasn't even come up yet.

**Pearl Cassius, 18 (written by CamillaAtticus)**

**District 1 Female**

I take a shower to stay clean. I shave my legs and underarms in the shower. I also apply a hair mask to keep my hair healthy and soft. I decide to smell like jasmine, so I use jasmine body wash. Once I get out, I blow dry my hair and brush it. I put on my lovely long, elegant, lavender gown. I apply lavender eye makeup, and I am finally finished.

I walk around my bathroom, examining how I look. I think I look quite flawless. I am upset my parents can't attend one of the biggest moments in my life. They are always at work, managing the wig and fashion design studio's.

I go downstairs to find Emerald and, to my surprise, Blaze waiting for me.

"What do you want to do now?" I ask Emerald.

"Blaze here was telling me about a couple of nerds that are throwing a pre-reaping party. Wanna crash it?" She suggests.

"Definitely" I say. We both start giggling about it. We used to crash party's when we were sixteen. And we're doing it again.

"Who's house?" I asked.

Blaze and Emerald look at each other, snickering, then turn to me and respond simultaneously "Shine's"

Shine was some nerd wannabe, who constantly tried to hang out with me. This will definitely be a slap in the face for her. All three of us walk onto the other side of town to get to her house. Once we finally get there, we walk in.

They are blasting music, so I knock their stereo over. The music abruptly stops, and everyone looks at us.

"Hey!" I sarcastically exclaim. "Sorry about the stereo, I accidentally knocked it over!"

I see her food. She had pizza and soda, so I walk over and pour all the soda on the pizzas. The people began to gasp, and the three of us begin laughing very hard as I walked over to Shine.

"Oh no!" I exclaim to Shine. I sarcastically add, "I think you need to re-do your party!" I

At this point, Shine begins to cry. I snicker at her. I walk out of her house with Blaze and Emerald, laughing the whole time. I say goodbye to Blaze as I enter the salon with Emerald. It doesn't matter, though; we both know that we will be seeing each other again.

We really need to get our hair done for the reaping. I decide to get some hi-lights to make my hair light and fresh. We go into the salon and sit down. We are waved over by an hair stylist and sit in chairs side by side, so we can talk.

"I still cannot believe that you will be in the capitol soon!" Emerald exclaims. I smile at the thought of the Capitol. I was very pleased to find out that I had finally exceeded above every other female in my district to become the female tribute, for the 22nd Hunger Games.

"Yeah, I'm very excited to go in with Blaze. I saw the others who volunteered. Honestly, it could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah, I do understand. It would suck if you and someone of an not appealing social status made it as tributes", she replies.

I relax and read a magazine from the Capitol as my hair gets styled. I flip the pages to the beauty section, because I love beauty tips. I read about some new facial scrub that can keep my pores clean for two weeks, and can make my face smell like vanilla for one whole week! I decide to get some of the stuff while I am in the Capitol next year as a mentor. My stylist tells me I have to wash my hair out, so I walk over to the sink with her.

While she washes my hair, I think of how I won't have makeup for a while when I am in the arena. It seems like a small torture. Once she finishes washing my hair, she blow dries it. Once she finishes, I look flawless. Emerald also looks great with her red hi-lights. We pay for our appointment, and leave the room.

I sighed as we walked out of the salon. I loved the salon, it has the best beauty stuff in it. The salon is probably my favorite place to hangout. It will probably be the thing I miss most during the games

I see my friend Hope waiting for me outside.

"Hey Hope" I say. I notice her dress. It is quite fashionable. I will definitely buy it once I win.

"I love your dress" I said.

"Aw thanks, it came from the Capitol." She replies happily. She gets beauty products, and clothes from a peacekeeper she has been flirting with.

"I'm going to need a peacekeeper boyfriend!" I exclaim sarcastically. She begins laughing.

"We're not dating, I'm just bribing him." She reassures me, and I begin laughing my head off at her comment.

"And you wouldn't need one after you win, you will go to the Capitol every year." She tells me. This is very true, but what about the other times of the year? I let out a sigh, thinking of how ridiculous my thoughts can get.

"Yeah, that will defiantly be an arrangement." I reply. I smile at her, because I have nothing else to say. We walk all the way over to town square, where the reaping is held. I have walked a lot today!

I go to the signing in table with Hope. I see Blaze walking in. I exchange a smile with him, hoping he looks great today. Nobody will ruin my reaping. The lady at the desk grabs my finger and pricks it, and stamps it on a paper. It is quite nasty, but they have to get us all in. I file in with the other 18 year old girls in the back. I hate being in the back, but I guess it will have to do.

**Blaze's POV**

Before long, Rufus, our lovely escort, struts across the stage. Every inch of his well groomed body, from his perfectly trimmed toenails to the oiled tips of his pink curly hair, is utterly fabulous. Along with his pink hair, he also has pink skin that is implanted with jewels for decoration.

He welcomes everyone to this year's reaping, and the crowd greets him back. He officially begins the ceremony, and the thousands of gathered citizens pay homage to the Capitol video plays. I am too excited to pay much attention, though I have seen the video enough times to have it memorized by now.

Finally, we get to the reaping itself.

In District 1, the drawing of names is really just a formality; something that has been done since the beginning, though it really serves no purpose. Rufus reaches into both the male and female bowls and draws a name from each, though he doesn't bother even reading the names he has drawn before jubilantly announcing that there have been volunteers this year.

I roll my eyes at the announcement. As if this is a surprise to anyone.

He calls the male and female mentors to the stage and confers with them.

Technically, they aren't officially allowed to announce the chosen tributes until the reaping, but by reaping day, it is always pretty clear who is going to get selected. The mentors have frequented our various classes at the academy and, though they aren't allowed to say before reaping day who specifically they have chosen, they almost always "accidentally" let rumors spread about who they will choose to be that year's tributes.

As Rufus parts from the victors with two more slips of paper, I glance a look over at the girls' section, where Pearl looks about as excited as I feel. Rufus squeals with delight, unable to contain his excitement, as he once again approaches the microphone. "People of District 1! I am more than pleased to announce that this year's female tribute will be Pearl Cassius!"

As Pearl makes her way to the stage, I focus on taking smooth, deep breaths. I know that I'm up next and the thought is making me too excited to stand still. I know I have no reason to be nervous, but the butterflies are there anyway. I try to smooth down the creases in my khaki pants as Rufus returns to announce the male volunteer for District 1.

As he makes the announcement, I leap up and let out a whoop of excitement. I want to make sure that all of Panem sees how much I have been looking forward to this. I turn to my buddy Flash beside me for a high five, but he doesn't seem to be nearly as excited. That's okay, I think to myself, this is my day.

"What gives, man? Are you gonna leave me hanging or what?" I ask euphorically.

He raises his eyebrow, his expression confused. "Dude, he didn't pick you."

At first, I don't hear what he said, and keep my hand up, still waiting for that high five. However, my delight slowly turns to anger as I understand what he has just said. I don't want to believe it, but, as I look up, I see that he is right.

Someone else has stolen my big day.

**Pearl's POV**

I look down upon the chosen volunteer, who looks about as far from Blaze as a boy can get. He is some disgusting lanky boy, who I have seen at the career academy. Who is he? Why is Blaze not up here? Blaze is so much stronger than this punk.

As he comes up to the stage, I frown at him.

"District One, I present you your tributes, Pearl Cassius and Wolfram Paget!" Rufus squeals. I look at this boy Wolfram. I can't believe this. My reaping has been ruined by him. I should be up here with Blaze, not this loser.

"Shake hands now" Rufus tells us. I grab Wolfram's hand and squeeze it hard. I notice the discomfort in his face, and I smile because of it.

As we are led into the justice building, I look over at Wolfram and snarl, "You will never last long. You're not a replacement for Blaze, and you never will be."

He seems to not care, which only makes me more upset. He continues to ignore me as we make our way to the train, so I decide to return the favor.

I'll just have to deal with the fact that I have to go into the games with a freak.


	3. District 2 Reaping: Don

**A/N (Glossy): **Now we only need a few more Reapings in!

**Harper Bellows, 18 (written by Elim9)**

**District 2 Female**

_You don't have to do this._

Darian's words ring in my ears as I make my way to the district square. He's been telling me that for nine years. Ever since he found me on the streets, beaten and bloody from a fight with three older, stronger children. A fight I had won.

_You don't have to do this, _he said, and took me home with him. I didn't have to steal. Didn't have to fight. Didn't have to be just another street urchin waiting for the next scrap of bread to come my way. I could be more.

He gave me a home. A family. Not a large family, maybe, but a good one. He enrolled me at the training academy on his own dime – and using some of his leverage as one of the trainers. At first, it was simply a way to keep me off the streets and out of trouble after school.

_You don't have to do this_, he said when I told him I wanted to train harder. He was kind. Patient. He never pushed. But I pushed myself. Pushed myself to the limit – and then past it. Always ready for a new challenge.

Two years ago, I thought I was ready to volunteer.

But that year was a wake-up call. They didn't choose me to volunteer, but they did choose one of my friends, a boy named Silica. One of the only people at the training academy who could best me. I was happy for him. I was proud. And I was secretly glad they hadn't picked us the same year.

Then he died.

He didn't even go down fighting. The arena that year was a series of snowy mountain peaks. He took a bad step during the bloodbath and fell down the slope, breaking his back. Silica could do nothing but lie there, helpless, as one of the weaker, outer-district tributes finished him off.

For a few weeks after that, I stopped training. I didn't want to die, after all. And if Silica could be killed so easily, who was I to think I could succeed? Why should I expect to win while he had failed?

_You don't have to do this_, Darian said when I told him I was going back to the academy, more determined than ever. Not in spite of the fact that Silica had died, but _because _of it. I'm not kidding myself. I might die. But I might not. And that's the trouble, in the end: not knowing.

I have to know.

I have to know whether I can do this. Whether I really have it in me. Whether I have what it takes to come out on top. I'm not sure, and that's what's really been eating at me for two years.

I can't stand not knowing.

So maybe I don't _have_ to do this. But I want to. I want to find out. And if I die … well, at least I'll know.

I get a few stares as I take my place in the square. Mostly from people who don't know me. People who don't know that I was the one chosen to volunteer this year. They stare because I'm not dressed up. Not in the traditional sense. Most girls are wearing their best dresses, their fanciest jewelry, their tallest shoes. Even though they're not volunteering. Most of them are enjoying the excuse to dress up.

But we won't be wearing dresses in the arena.

So I'm wearing my training outfit – a simple, loose-fitting, dark blue jumpsuit and a pair of lightweight boots. My hair is short pulled back with a thin black headband to keep it out of my face. No frills, no fuss. Simple, serviceable, basic.

I look like a tribute already.

But I probably don't look much like a Career. Career girls are supposed to be tall and beautiful, with flowing hair and long eyelashes. I'm none of these things. I'm barely five feet, and "sturdy" or "stocky" would be a more apt description than "beautiful." My hair is short, straight, and a very ordinary brown, my eyes a dull blue-grey. Nothing alluring. Not even attractive.

But I'm not planning to win the Games with my looks.

I choose a spot at the edge of the eighteen-year-old section, close to the edge and close to the stage. No point in making anyone else get out of the way. I'm here to volunteer, not to show off.

I try my best to pay attention as the mayor reads his speech. Then the escort gives a speech. Then the Capitol gives a speech. Well, a video. As if all these words somehow give today more meaning. As if they haven't been saying the same words over and over again for the last twenty-one years.

Do they really think this will be the year it sinks in? The year that will make the districts think twice and say, "Maybe we shouldn't have rebelled"? We already know that here in Two. The rebellion was a mistake. But the other districts? The outer ones? Even if the Games last a hundred or a thousand years, they still won't understand.

Which is why we keep winning. Why we've been able to take what was meant as a punishment and turn it into an opportunity. Here in Two, we've stopped dwelling on the past. We've stopped seeing the Games as a curse. We've made them our own.

No wonder we have the most victors.

Four of them are onstage now – Klara, Caran, Charon, and Dominik. The fifth is dead – overdosed on morphling only a year after her own victory. Pathetic. She risked her life and won it back, only to throw it away again.

Still, four live victors is quite a feat. But it's by no means a guarantee. There are no guarantees in the Games. Nothing certain. Once you're in the arena, being from District Two doesn't keep you safe any more than being from an outer district means you're dead. Some of it is skill. Some of it is determination. Some of it is luck. I know I have the first two.

Hopefully, I'll have some of the third.

Finally, our escort, Lionessa Petricap, is done rambling about how happy she is to be here, how thrilled she is to be the escort for such a wonderful district. Not that I can blame her, really. District Two's tributes are probably the easiest to work with. No crying, no fussing, no sulking or whining or throwing a tantrum over our rotten luck. It must be so much easier – and a lot less depressing – to work with tributes who actually _want_ to be here.

Finally, she reaches into the reaping bowl and draws a name. The words _Tamra Peladon_ have barely left her lips before I announce, "I volunteer!"

No show. No fuss. I take the steps quickly and confidently, and, soon, I'm standing next to Lionessa. There are a few murmurs in the crowd, but they're silenced as Lionessa asks why I volunteered. At last, I allow myself to smile a little.

"Because I want to."

A burst of laughter erupts from the eighteen-year-old section. I glare out at the source: a tall, pale boy near the front. A few of the others are smiling.

It's not the answer she was expecting. Volunteers generally spout some nonsense about being proud to represent the district or being certain that they're District Two's next victor. But I'm not here for my district. I'm here for me. And there's nothing certain about who the victor's going to be this year. There never is.

Lionessa shrugs a little and turns her attention to the boys' reaping bowl. She opens her mouth to read the name, but, before she has the chance, there's a shout of, "I volunteer!" from the eighteen-year-old section.

From the boy who was laughing.

Just my luck.

He races up to the stage, grinning like an idiot, his light brown hair flopping all over the place, his pale blue eyes wide with excitement and delight. He's at least a foot taller than me – probably more. Lean, but strong. I've seen him around the training center, but never would have noticed him, much less pegged him as this year's volunteer.

Of course, he's probably thinking the same thing about me.

Lionessa asks for his name, and he practically shouts, "Aldous Timmer!" into the microphone, which starts squealing with feedback. Lionessa, undaunted, asks why he volunteered.

"Because I want to," he replies, already drumming his fingers on the microphone.

I can't hide a snort of amusement. Does he think he's being clever, copying my response? Or does he really believe that he wants this as badly as I do?

Applause rises from the crowd as I hold out my hand. Aldous shakes it, his own hand cold and clammy. I make sure to grip it a little tighter before letting go. I don't say anything, but my eyes do. _Bring it, Twitchy._

Because, in the end, he's competition. They all are. Oh, we'll play allies for a while. That's standard for Careers, and a dangerous pattern to break too early. But if it's him or me, it'll be me.

And it's only a matter of time.

* * *

Darian is my only visitor. I suppose that shouldn't surprise me – not really. I don't know who else I was hoping for. Maybe one or two of the other trainees from the academy. A few of the others from school.

Silica would have come, if he was still alive.

I push the thought from my head. No use thinking about that. And no point in fussing over who did and didn't come. If I make it back, there will be dozens of people claiming to have been rooting for me, claiming to have known all along that I would be the one to come back.

And if I don't make it back … well, then none of this really matters.

Darian shifts uncomfortably in his chair, as if he's deciding whether or not to say something. "I wish I could come with you," he says at last. "I wish I could be with you the whole time. But you'll have your mentor. Klara."

I roll my eyes. Of course I would get stuck with Klara. She's well-known at the academy for letting her tributes do practically anything they want. They can skip training, wear whatever they want to interviews, say incredibly stupid things in front of the entire Capitol.

But I'm not planning on doing any of those things, so I suppose it doesn't matter much. I'm not here to make a fool of myself. I don't plan on treating any of this like a joke or … well, a game. The other Careers can have their bright lights and fancy outfits and outrageous shenanigans. I'm not here to play.

I'm here to win.

"Be careful," Darian says at last. "And watch out for Aldous. He's smarter than he looks."

I snort. "That doesn't say much." But of course I'll be careful. I plan on being careful around everyone. We may be allies – most Careers are by default – but that doesn't mean for one second that I trust him.

Or that he should trust me.

At last, Darian's time is up. We both stand up in awkward silence, and he leans over to give me a hug. "I'm proud of you," he says quietly, squeezing me a little tighter.

I squeeze back. "Thank you. For everything." For taking me in. For caring for me. For being there to support me. For being patient and understanding.

For not pushing me.

I don't say it, but I hope he understands. Because that was always the most important part. It was never him forcing me to do this. It was never about what _he_ wanted, or what _he _thought I could be. This is about what _I_ think I can be. This is about what _I _want.

And now it's up to me to go get it.

**Aldous Timmer, 18 (written by Elim9)**

**District 2 Male**

_You don't have to do this._

I kick another rock aside as I make my way to the district square. I wish they would stop saying it. You don't have to do this, Aldous. You can still back out, Aldous. What if you die, Aldous? On and on and on.

I get it, of course. I do. They love me. They don't want me to go. But the trainers picked me. Me. They wouldn't have picked me if they didn't think I could do this. If they didn't think I could be District Two's next victor.

Of course, that's what they thought about the tributes last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. We haven't had a victor since the Eighteenth Games. And even if we get a victor this year, it can only be one of us. They have to be wrong about one of us.

_Stop thinking like that. You can do this._

Because maybe I don't have to. Maybe it's not too late too back out. But it's definitely too late to back out without looking like a weakling, a coward. Too late to back out without spending the rest of my life wondering if I could have done it. Wondering if I would have been the victor, if only I'd had the courage to take the chance.

I don't think I could live like that.

But at least I'd be alive. Guaranteed. There are no guarantees in the Games. No certainties. But that's part of the fun. Part of the adventure.

And it's an adventure I want.

I wasn't certain it was, at first. Training was just something to do for fun – something that could finally set me apart from my brothers. None of them had any interest in training, so, of course, I latched onto it as the one thing that made me different. Special. With four older brothers, anything that sets you apart is a good thing.

Well, almost anything. Anything except being dead. But I'm not going to be dead. Not if I have any say in it.

I'm the first one in the square. The Peacekeepers give me a few odd looks, but that's all right. I'm used to it. Every reaping day, it's the same. I'm the first one there. Because I need to get out of the house. Get away from all the fuss. Because I enjoy watching the people pour in, one by one – a whole district, united by this one event.

And, I suppose, because _someone_ has to be first.

It's certainly better than being last. Or being late. I can't stand being late. Not that I ever am, but my family – they're a different story. They're late for _everything_. Every decision takes ages – even if it's something as simple as what we're having for supper.

Part of that's my parents, of course, trying to keep us all happy. But you can't keep everyone happy _all _the time. It doesn't work. Somewhere along the line, I simply stopped trying. Stopped trying to please everyone – even them.

And you know what? They accepted it. They don't _like _that I'm here. They don't _like _that I'm about to volunteer for the Games. But they accept it. And they respect it. It was _my _decision, not theirs. And if it makes _me _happy – well, maybe that's all that matters.

Well, that and living, of course. Living is important, too.

But what good is living if you can't have a little fun with it? What good is living if you're not enjoying it? What good is living if you're not doing what you want?

This is what I want.

I start pacing, drawing stares from a few of the Peacekeepers and the other teenagers as they start to file in. Waiting here is slightly better than waiting at home. But it's still waiting. Why can't they just get started? I'm here. The girl who's going to volunteer is probably here by now. So what's the point in waiting for everyone else? They're just going to stand here, listen to a bunch of stupid speeches, watch us volunteer, and then go home.

Might as well not come at all.

But they do. Slowly, the square fills up, and, instead of pacing, I'm forced to resort to shifting my weight back and forth from one foot to the other. A few of the others move off, give me a little space. Some of them are excited, some of them are interested in what's going on. But a lot of them look bored. Maybe some of them realize what I do – there's really no point to them being here.

In fact, now that we have a Career system set up, why do they even have a reaping? I mean, I suppose it's still entertaining for the Capitol to see the entire district parade out here, but what's the point? In the non-Career districts, sure. Any one of them could be picked, so at least there's some element of suspense. Of surprise. But here? Everyone knows two of us have been picked to volunteer. Why bother with the rest of the district?

Tradition, I suppose. A reminder that we used to be just like the other districts – the children afraid for their lives, wondering if they might be the one to be sent off to their death. We've taken away the element of surprise, yes, but we've improved our chances by doing so. We've eliminated the variables, so to speak.

Well, some of them. You can never eliminate all the variables. Only if all the _other _districts did the same thing. The outer districts – they're still the variables. Uncertain. Unpredictable.

And there's a certain excitement to that, too, I suppose, but, on the whole, I think our way is better.

Our escort, Lionessa Petricap, certainly seems to agree with me. She's practically bouncing up and down, grinning, gushing about how happy she is to be here in such a wonderful district. Blah blah blah blah blah.

_Stop talking. Get on with it._

And, finally, she does. She reaches into the big, pointless reaping bowl and draws a name – a name that will have absolutely no significance in a few seconds. "Tamra Peladon!"

Immediately, everyone forgets the name, because a girl at the other end of my section volunteers. Just like everybody knew would happen.

I drum my fingers on my leg as she takes her sweet time walking up the steps. _Come on, hurry up. I'm next_.

I'm next.

This is it. This is really it. I'm about to volunteer for the Hunger Games.

What am I doing?

_Settle down. Settle down. You've got this_.

I barely hear the girls' name – Harper Bellows. She's shorter than me. In fact, she's shorter than Lionessa, and Lionessa can't be much more than five feet. Short but sturdy – she's got muscles beneath that loose-fitting training academy jumpsuit. Brown hair, blue-grey eyes, pale skin. Not someone I've ever noticed at the training academy. Not someone I would have guessed would be this year's volunteer.

Then again, she'd probably say the same thing about me.

"And why did you volunteer, my dear?" Lionessa croons.

"Because I want to."

I can't help a burst of laughter, which earns me a glare from the girl onstage. Does she know I'm going to be standing there next to her soon?

Soon.

Lionessa reaches for the second name, but her mouth has barely opened before I call out, "I volunteer!" and race up the steps, grinning. This is my chance. Mine. And there's no way I'm going to risk losing it.

Lionessa beams at me. "And what's your name, dearie?"

"Aldous Timmer!" I call into the microphone, earning a little squeal of feedback. Harper cringes. Can't blame her, I suppose. Maybe I'm more excited than I thought.

"And why did you volunteer, Aldous?"

I flash Harper a grin. "Because I want to."

Harper snorts a little but gives me a grudging smile and holds out her hand. I shake it without hesitation, pumping it up and down. She squeezes. Hard. I just smile harder. _Bring it, Grumpy._

Because, whether she likes it or not, she's stuck with me. At least for a while. In the end, we're competition – everyone is – but, for now, we're working together. She'll just have to live with it.

But not for long.

* * *

This is it.

I drum my fingers on the wall. I'm already sick of waiting. Already paced every inch of the floor – or, at least, it seems like it. It's probably only been a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity.

Where are they?

Not that I'm worried about them – not really. I know they're coming. But the sooner they can come, the sooner they can leave. And the sooner they leave, the sooner _I _can leave. And the sooner _I _can leave, the sooner we get to the Capitol, the sooner we get to the arena, the sooner we get to the Games.

Which isn't really true, of course. Hurrying my family along won't make the Games come any faster. But it'll make me feel better.

Which probably sounds terrible, but I've never been good with goodbyes. I suppose they're another thing that makes sense in the non-Career districts, where the tributes are surprised to be here. But me? I've known for weeks that I was going to be the one sitting in this room. My family has known for weeks. What are we really going to say in the next few minutes that we haven't already said?

Why can't we just get on with it?

My family, of course, doesn't see it that way. Soon enough, the door opens, and they come pouring in. I can see a mix of emotions in their faces. Pride. Excitement. Worry. Fear. Anxiety. Disbelief. Did they truly question whether or not I'd go through with this?

Nekoda, my oldest brother, claps me on the back. "Good going, Al. We knew you'd do it."

_Did you really?_

But I don't say that. Instead, what comes out is, "It's Aldous."

Of course, he doesn't know that. Couldn't be expected to know that I've finally shed my childhood nickname. We've barely seen each other in years. He's twenty-eight – ten years older than me. He's got his own life. The others do, too. Sure, I'm still their brother. Sure, we still care about each other. But it's not like we see each other every day. Not like they're going to spend every minute noticing that I'm gone.

And it's not like I'm going to be gone forever.

Probably not.

Hopefully not.

_Stop it_.

The next few minutes are a blur of emotions. Hugs. Handshakes. Our mother manages to hold back her tears, and our father claps me on the back. My brothers gather me in a group hug. Jethro ruffles my hair, even though he knows I hate it. For a few moments, I'm just Al. Their little brother.

But then they're gone, and I'm Aldous again. Aldous, who finally found a way to step out of their shadow. To set myself apart. To be someone special.

I'm not a kid anymore. I'm a tribute. And, in this one moment, there's no doubt in my mind.

This is where I want to be.


	4. District 3 Reaping: Juvy and Rich

**A/N (Glossy): **I did not expect people to start getting their Reapings in so quickly. I love how enthusiastic you all are.

**Felix Hayward, 16 (written by LoxFox)**

**District 3 Male**

Crap.

Crap, crap, crap craaap.

Now, it may come as a surprise, but, contrary to popular opinion, I do have more than one word in the breadth of my vocabulary. This one just manages to quite adequately summarise my current state of being.

Hurrying, I splash water over my face, dragging my callused palms over my cheeks. God, I'm tired; I've spent last night in a cell (again), and it's only the all-encompassing jurisdiction of reaping day getting me out of trouble. Suffice to say, I haven't slept well.

Cracks spiderwebbing across the mirror, the reflection stares back at me, eyes slightly bloodshot, and the shadows under my eyes shaded blue-black in the light. Blinking above me, the bulb flickers, the dim half-light casts unearthly shadows across my face, which appears skeletal and haggard, distorted by the fissures in the glass. Oh, and as for the extensive expanses of mould that patches in the corners of the mirror- I wouldn't be surprised if it gained sentience, crawled off the wall, and got a mortgage and voting rights.

Spitting in the sink, I rinse the muck off my face and the debris out of my eyes, then pick up my jacket and tags from off the floor of the cell, where I'd used the former as a pillow, balling it up to protect my head from the concrete floor that reeks of urine and sweat. Sprawled over the floor, the dog tags lie, radiating their semblance of rugged militarism. These things have value; Dad was a peacekeeper, saw bad stuff going down, didn't come out the same at the other end. He lost it big-time after he completed his tour of duty, but I nicked the tags, two silver disks emblazoned with his name and serial number. Keep 'em on me all the time. Not sentimental or anything, they're just kinda cool.

'Sides, Dad was gone, spending his days locked up and yammering, eyes wide, at the non-existent voices. Couldn't even tell me who my mother was. Probably some harlot he screwed while out in another district. My uncle reckons I have her hair; the almost-white hue that brings with it a lot of unwanted attention is rare in this district, though they burnt all the records from before the Treaty of the Treason was drawn up, so I can't really check the branches of my family tree.

Blossoming over the left side of my face, the angry indigo sheen of bruising has started to flourish; it hurts like anything, sending spirals of pain through my temple, but, on the upside, I haven't split the skin, so it'll be gone within a week. From the way the peacekeepers took me down, tackling me to the ground, I'm thankful for the fact that I've still got a full set of teeth.

I run my hands through this wiry mess of hair that I'd recently hacked short, trying to make myself presentable for the reaping. I'm preparing for the worst- my name is in that effing goldfish bowl forty-five times. It's not the tesserae, we don't need the cash, but it's part of the punishment for being caught outside the fence, and after curfew to boot. From above me, a claxon sounds, and the automated machinery on the door unlocks, the old-fashioned mechanism at odds to the sophisticated technology used to keep us restrained. That's my cue to get outta here.

Squeezing my eyes together to try and relieve the pressure of the migraine in my skull-probably the inevitable result of sleeping on the floor, paired with the purple blood-blister that's taking up residence on my face- I grab my stuff and go to sign out.

Self-assured, I stalk down the corridor, past holding cells full of guys screaming bloody murder, and overworked desk jockeys, hunched over in their own blatant self-effaciveness. 'Wait here for release,' one of the girls behind the counter informs me, all prim and proper, ceremonious almost. Staring me down, the clock on the wall counts down the minutes until the reaping. 'Name? I need your surname first, then first and second names and so on. If you would-'

'Hayward, Felix John.' Dammit, I'm gonna be late if this useless secretary doesn't get my paperwork out in time, and from the looks of things, she's pretty illiterate. 'John with an H,' I repeat, tapping my boots in an impatient rhythm on the floor, as if it's going to alert her to the fact that a) I needed to be signed back into the reaping thirty seconds ago, and b) I'm not the most patient person in the world, and if she takes any longer- well, to put it bluntly, I'm gonna put a fist in her face.

'Ah, Felix. Excellent. Are you excited for this year's games?' She asks, absentminded, as she processes the forms. From the monitor perched above the counter, I can see the escort- that purple Capitol thing- and the mayor, suited up in faceless grey, parading about onstage, reading out some obviously dictated speech about unity and righting past wrongs; all absolute bull, the drivel that pours, spewing from his mouth like the Capitol's artificial waterfall. It's all the same, every year without fail. Processed, packaged, parcel received. Accepting, the people stand to attention, rapt with their dead eyes staring at nothing, as if they've never heard it before. Tired, I zone out. It's. So. Dull.

'Excuse me there, Felix –sorry, I may call you Felix, yes?- well, thing is, we do seem to be having some troubles with the processing of your request, and I'm going to have to do- well, do this manually, so you'll be waiting for, what, ten minutes, maybe less if I-'

Ugh. It's farcical. I'm sick of it already.

So I hit the computer. Hard.

_system reboot active_ flashes across the screen where they're faffing about with my papers, and before I wait for any of the same unconditional response, I'm storming out of the foyer. Rushing open, the reinforced steel in the doors resists as I shove it open with a brutish determination, yet her question still rings in my mind. 'Are you excited for the systematic slaughter of twenty-three kids, dressing them up and preening them, tweezing out the imperfections until they're manufactured pets fit for televised murder?'

Nah, I'm not uneasy, as such. So sure, there's a coupla butterflies squirming in the pit of my stomach, but they don't count. That's adrenaline, not nervousness. I know the snaking rush of the adrenaline pretty well; only two days ago, I was stuck between the concrete facelessness of the outer wall of Three, and slavering jowls of the watchdogs that patrol like shadows across the borders.

There was this guy, I dunno who the hell he was, but the uniform kinda makes me think he was one of the guys in the forces out on patrol. I was just doing my job, y'know, uncle's orders. He's got me as a runner, pretty decent rates; you need someone fast, clever, quick-thinking. Someone able to outmatch the peacekeepers and watchdogs, someone who don't mind putting their life on the line to get the goods across. Guess who fits that description.

Oh yeah, and it may or may not entail the transportation of Spark, the latest designer drug doing the dizzying rounds in the Capitol. Costs a vast amount of money, see, so the idea is to cash in on the popularity while people are still off their faces hallucinating and shagging the bejeezus out of each other.

Mainly, the job involves passing on the stuff, running it between districts, learning the timings of the forces and the patrols, smuggling the drugs between checkpoints and other runners. It's a clandestine network of drug dealers, distillers and addicts, and I'm the one in the middle. Beats getting cancer from the arid cloy of the smoke in the factories. Means I'm not stuck by the restraint that whoever's in charge in here shackles us with.

Also means that I'm in trouble more often than not, but that's pretty irrelevant. Actually, it's completely relevant- this peacekeeper's decided he don't like the look of me, and he drew out this baton, the sort we manufacture en masse. It's about a foot long, black and crackling with electricity, and he'd gotten himself this glint in his eye that says 'I'm gonna taser your filthy classwar, and feed your guts to the dogs out here.'

Catching in the dying light, his uniform was as white as the freshly fallen snow, though his boots were caked in mud and his helmet was dented. The Capitol doesn't bother with deploying the best peacekeepers in Three. They all think we're obedient, humble, keep our heads down and never do anything vaguely suspicious. Still doesn't stop them from keeping the guards here, just in case. Punishable by death, it is, to be discovered outside the walls. Chain link fences and barbed wire signify the edge of the district, but if you're clever enough, you can find the places where we've bolt-cuttered it open, hellholes to sneak past the keen eyes of the 'keeps to get our merchandise through.

So this bloke, he don't like me, and thus he'd got this weapon out, trying to intimidate me. Ain't working; see, I knew this drill. He came straight at me, baton zipping with a current enough to knock me out cold, but I ducked, weaved, dodging the zip of electricity to plant my elbow squarely to the back of his head. With the impact, he went down onto one knee, the exposed area at the back of his neck open to attack, and I rammed his head against the concrete. Lights out. I've gotten pretty good over the years, made my reputation as a bit of a brawler. I do this sorta thing a lot.

Thing is, he was out, but while he's been dealing with me, he's had enough leeway to call out backup. Long story short, and I'm smacked in the face a coupla times, and then arrested for trespassing, harbouring unlawful substances, and being out after curfew. Again. Hence the prison cell.

It's a risky life, the one I lead; rich with rewards, fraught with danger. But that's the way I like it. It's that or choking to death in factories.

See, kids in Three ain't clever. They know their way around tech, yeah- but if I tell you to copy this circuit a hundred times a day, does it make you clever? No. It don't. It makes you stupid and compliant and complacent, but able to put the copper tracks on a green board, so everyone gets the impression that you're some sort of bloody genius. See, I don't buy into that bull. Already making more cash than most of the mindless slaves to the ticking city districts that are twice my age, and the oppressed in the humdrum thrumming of the factories' endless toils: now that's clever.

An' yeah, maybe it's just a bit illegal. But it pays well, and I've only had ten weeks in juvey to show for it.

I begin to run. If I'm gonna be late, I don't wanna make too much of an entrance. I'm hoping that I can get there before that bloody escort reads out the girls; that way, I can be in, finger pricked and settled in time, and not end up with more reason for the authorities to despise the dirt under the fingernails that I am to their holier-than-thou arrogance. Yup, that's me. Guilty as charged. Filth.

Heavy, treading on the asphalt, my boots trug out a rhythm on the road below. Overnight, they've erected a public speaker system, which is now blasting an almost solid wall of sound into the deserted streets. Gotta make sure everyone is watching; that everyone can do their homework on who's going to be murdered this year. Over the system, I hear the escort proclaiming to the heavens about how she's our 'mistress of ceremonies,' and it's this snootiness, and this delusion that she's got innumerable reasons to flaunt her own superiority- it's this that makes me want to slap her. More so than usual.

Crap. I'm so going to be late. For once, not actually my fault. Even so, she's reading out the girl's name. I'm not listening, but the name 'Rubio' clicks with something in my mind, and I'm suddenly on full alert. I don't know about the mayor, only that he's been on my back, trying to get me doing community service; and that he was the one that put me behind those bars. Almost guiltily, I take pleasure in the knowledge that he was going to suffer for this. His little pampered sprog was going in. And, most likely, not coming out.

There's a bit of time wasted while whoever-she-is dallies along. Probably throwing a tantrum, or demanding that someone else takes her place. Because my effing Daddy loves me, and my effing Daddy earns more in a week than what ten of you earn in a year, and because my effing Daddy has said that I'm more important than you. Because I'm a special fucking snowflake and deserve to be exempt from the rules that everyone else has to play by. And so on. 'Come on up, dearie, come on,' I hear- the speakers practically ram the broadcast down my eardrums- and am thoroughly unimpressed. So what, she's a 'dearie' now? Oh wait, I forgot- because she's the mayor's kid, she gets to be treated like a goddess, because 'dearie' has lots of money and her Daddy gets to buy out whoever stands in his way.

I can't help but curse now, seeing as I'm still three blocks away, and they'll be drawing my name out any minute now, with all the pomp and circumstance of some harmless fiasco. The closer I get to the square, the more speakers and screens there are, and I can feel the heavily made-up eyes of the escort on me, the accusatory glare of her clown-faced grin boring into my back from virtually every angle. A few people on the streets are giving me venomous glimpses that deflect off my jacket with only minimal singeing, though a few of the inherently more prodigious clock the fact that I'm all-out sprinting and realise that I'm not just skiving off.

Colliding with someone as they amble out of a doorway, I turn to nod at them, but don't say sorry, only sending them a bit of an apologetic glance to try and nullify the scrambling on the floor and the spillage from a bottle that now lies forlornly in shattered fragments on the tarmac.

Past the quaint little shops, I dash through the streets, barely paying attention to the sighing of 'ah yes, Constantine Rubio, ladies and gentlemen,' from across the square, and as I round the corner, the last few hundred metres stretching out before me, I start to sprint, pushing, willing myself to move faster. I've done it before. I just require a few more seconds of messing about, or fussing with the chairs at the side, and then I can get logged in and not be thrown in the deep end-

'Felix Hayward.'

Well, so much for not being thrown in the deep end.

Above me, the sky clouds. Over and over, the declamation reverberates, shaking like a rattlesnake around the square, echoing off the uniform grey concrete that constitutes our buildings. I'm not scared, shocked, whatever; I'm not stupid, either, and I know that some piece of scum with nearly half a cent of entries deserves to be condemned. Suppose it's all the dealing and law-breaking catching up to me. Bad Karma, huh.

Only the tiniest fraction of a moment, one of sombre realisation, manages to permeate my thoughts, and although I am quick to banish treacherous thoughts of weakness, I do have an instant, a fleeting instant, of self-doubt. But I swallow, and rush in. 'That's me, hold up,' I try to yell, but my voice has been weakened by the running, and between panting breaths, I once again try to flag their attention. 'That's me,' I call, as I arrive in a flurry of sweat and anger: I'm a little pissed off, at myself; at the Capitol, with their power games and slaughter; at the woman who thinks she can cover herself with stripes, whiskers and purple body paint and still be treated like a human being; but no, I'm mostly pissed off at the girl on the desk who can't read an effing file.

'I'm assuming you're Felix! In that case, how nice of you to join us!'

Okay, not funny! Note the exclamation marks! This woman really needs to know when to shut the eff up!

Irritated, while a corridor of peacekeepers flank both of my sides to try and stop me from escaping (I'll bet good money that Rubio didn't get a military supervision), I mouth to the escort a snarky remark, and resist the urge to hurl a glob of spit into the atrocity of her wig. 'Well ain't you ever-so perceptive, freak.' In response, she seems a little taken aback, but it's probably nothing she hasn't seen before. Makes you wonder if they go through training: Lesson #27 today, seminar on how to deal with bitchy kids mugging you off.

As I get up on stage, I snarl at the mayor. It's probably his doing- I know he detests me with every manicured fibre of his living being- and flip him a gratuitous shot of my middle finger, as a way of thanking him for such a lavish opportunity. Discreetly, I scope out my partner for this year. So, this is the kid, huh? I would have imagined her to be fatter. And more confident. She's easily six inches shorter than me, but the way she holds herself, draws her arms in and hunches over slightly; it makes her seem shorter, more timid, as if the weight of the sky was a colossal force pressing down on her shoulders. Almost painfully thin, she smears away the riverbed of tears on her face, and rubs her eyes as if she's trying not to be noticed. Nah, this kid don't look like much.

Of course, it's only when she peeks a pair of clear, almost amber eyes, out from underneath the curtain of her hair and the frowning confusion of her furrowed brow, that I realise that this girl is gonna have people flocking to her like moths to a flame- or wasps to a honey pot. Not sponsors. Not stylists. Not anyone with her best interests at heart. See, back in the run-down manufacturing district of the Hood where I grew up, now framed in notorious infamy, girls like this are preyed upon by the men. People see this quiet submission as an invitation to do whatever the hell they want with their pretty little faces, and when a drunk or dangerous man's got his eye on something, he ain't taking his eye off his prize until he has reaped the spoils of war. She ain't gonna last five minutes in the games- if another tribute don't get her, then her own insecurities will, nagging away, eating her from the inside out like termites, hollowing her out until she's just a vacant structure swaying in the wind.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, your tributes for the 22nd Annual Hunger Games, Felix Hayward and Constantine Rubio,' I stare out into the crowd; there's a coupla people that I would vaguely recognise, but nobody steps up to volunteer. Three ain't like the Career Districts, in the aspect that we have the common sense not to send our offspring off to an abattoir.

'Shake hands now, you're both comrades in the game that will make mill-i-on-aires-' she gestures wildly, flourishing her claws in our faces, and simpers, all squishy dimples, '-of the victorious!' We turn, in unison, like clockwork robots, and I grasp Rubio's hand with something that I hope is affirming and assertive. I misjudge, and compact the dainty bones in her hand, and though it initially crosses my mind to slacken my grip, I keep up the pressure. Spoilt rich kid, with a dress that looks like it costs half of most people's salary; I'm sure in that I'm gonna make her life miserable, so her father knows the hell that everyone else has to go through. Taking it out on her ain't gonna make me feel better, no; but if it causes this overpaid pig to realise that he's the same as the rest of us lowlifes, then it'll be worth it.

The sins of the father are the sins of the son, after all.

With an esteemed finality, the doors of exotic, panelled mahogany slam shut behind us, and I skulk into a softly-furnished private room to await anyone that wants to see me. Nobody turns up, and I end up staring out of the window for a while, inspecting the dirt that's clouding the edges, rot seeping into the panelling. For all their trials and tribulations, the Capitol cannot control the spread of grime.

'Two minutes,' I hear, barked from outside the door, and it's only then that Brynd sweeps in, all self-importance and an aura that quite plainly says 'don't mess with me, or you'll be wearing concrete shoes and taking a one-way trip into the canals.'

My uncle's a bit of a bastard like that. He'll only arrive once you're out of time, then he'll make you wait while he helps himself to a glass of water or checks his cufflinks. Nice little strategy there; shows your opponent that your time is more important than theirs, and thus that you're infinitely better than them. He doesn't try that today, instead handing me a box, about the size of a cigarette pack, richly decorated with the lacquer inlaid and varnished to perfection. Nodding, he acknowledges me, then grabs me by the denim lapels of my jacket. 'You ain't gonna win,' he stares me down, 'so when ya go out, bring 'em down with you, yeah?'

Thanks mate. Both helpful and reassuring. Who gave you the awards for 'most inspirational advice', 'best father figure', and 'relative most likely to beat you to death while stoned'?

I nod in response. 'You're gonna need a new runner for checkpoints delta to theta. I'd recommend Cast, he's pretty clever and would easily outsmart the 'keeps, then either Juniper or Aila, if you want someone who's quick.' I gnaw on my bottom lip, tilt my head from side to side as I weigh up my options for replacement. 'Jury, that's the Merrans' kid, if you were after the best of both.'

Snickering, Brynd slaps me on the shoulder. 'Calm it, Felix, it's all under control, kay? Now try not to embarrass yerself.' Pausing, he motions to the box. 'Keep them. They'll be useful, y'know.' Cautious, I inspect the contents.

Unsure how to reply, I try not to piss him off. 'They won't let me keep these. What d'ya want me to do with 'em? I can't take them in,' I state, careful where I tread. Always a minefield with this guy- you never know if and when he's going to snap.

'You get forbidden stuff in all the time, y'know. Just do yer thing,' Brynd calls back as he leaves, nonchalant, as if he couldn't give a toss if he tried. His coat swishes out behind him, but not before he bestows a final, heartfelt parting statement.

'Shove 'em up yer arse, for all I care.'

**Constantine "Connie" Rubio, 15 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 3 Female**

"Today is the reaping," a familiar voice sighs, their silhouette casting a shadow over the spot where I sit. The tall figure sits next to me and pats my knee in an attempt at comfort. Looking up from the people milling about our polluted District, I turn my attention to my father, who is staring at me with sad eyes that match my own in a shade that can only be described as cognac.

I may choose to be mute, but I am not deaf. I know of the reaping, it was mentioned in every show I watched on the television and people were already betting about the District that would prevail during these Games. This years reaping will be the last under the infamous Head Gamemaker Danus, and the first under our new President Coriolanus Snow, so they're sure to be all the rage.

"Are you scared?" My father's baritone voice asks. I shake my head in response. I am not lying, I have nothing to be scared of. My entire life has been fed to me on a silver spoon, which meant my chances were zero to none.

"Chrysanthemum sent you a new dress," Dully, I note that he's trying to make conversation with a girl that refuses to speak, and mentally laugh. My father was the smartest man I knew - which said something, considering our District - yet he was still sometimes so foolish. I turn my attention back on that of the District and the dark greasy clouds that fill our skies and shudder, repulsed. District 3 air was so dirty, I wouldn't be surprised if we all died of lung cancer before sixty. "It's on your bed. She spent days on end creating a dress for you and I believe it's quite beautiful."

"I'm so nervous for you. I do not mean to fret so much; I simply worry for my little princess," he quakes when I still do not answer, pulling me into a hug. We went through this every year - he made himself sick worrying for my safety and then riled himself up over nothing. My father was quite the worrier.

I pat his knee and we sit together in silence for a bit. Eventually, however, my mental alarm clock begins to tick, and looking at the city clock I notice the time. Standing, I brush off my day dress. "You must prepare for the reaping?" He inquires, noticing my actions. I nod and he smiles gently. "Off you go." I nod again and enter the house, the manor like place bustling with activity..

My nanny, Elvira – who we no longer have use for, but I refuse to allow father to fire her – is in my room tidying up when I enter. I scowl at the fact that she's in my room without permission, but cannot stay angry with the sweet, elderly woman. She turns when she hears me and beams, opening her arms and hugging me. "Connie, my sweet girl," she breathes into my hair. Elvira was always a bit too emotional on reaping days – more so since I'm eligible. Her own son was reaped and killed, so her feelings were not unnecessary, I just wish she would shower Iblis with them instead of me. Then again I don't, because Elvira is my nanny and I am quite possessive.

"Oh, my precious girl. I set out your outfit, including that dress your lovely aunt made for you. Is there anything else I can do for you?" She asks, offering the notepad. I refused to speak, but occasionally I would communicate with pen and paper. Only to my mother, Elvira and my father, however. Iblis and my step-mother never got the honor of glancing upon my only means of communication.

I shake my head and she nods before leaving me to prepare for the reaping.

As I ready myself for my shower, I start to slip into my thoughts like I usually do when bathing. Sometimes I think about trivial things, like the impending test that I had in my personal studies or the color of my face when looking at a boy that I rather liked. Others I thought about much more deeper and important things, such as the meaning of life or how our country had let one man have absolute power and throw us into a situation such as the Hunger Games

Today, while I shower, I think about my complete silence and how I, the once bubbly and bright eyed little girl, had come the quiet observant who had no friends and only her own loneliness to accompany her through the night.

I can't help but think of all the tea parties I had with the other little girls before I fell off the bandwagon and decided my speech was worthless if my parents wouldn't listen to it. I remember the following years I spent glaring my parents down when they weren't looking and terrorizing my father's new baby. And I also remember breaking that oath to silence when I was around ten.

The day was actually warm and dry, considering the rain clouds that threatened our skies. Maybe they were just factory smoke, the memory is a bit hazy. I was being forced out of my house with my step-mother and her daughter – Iblis, who at the time was four – when I saw a group of girls playing on a make-shift course in their backyard. They did all sorts of extraordinary flips and twists, jumps and kicks that awed me. I decided that I would learn to do that, and eagerly jumped their yard fence in effort to join them. I remember practically begging them to teach me, my words tumbling from my mouth while I pleaded for their instruction.

Of course, they obliged as long as I paid for my lessons, which my father was more than happy to do. With a little more money paid to them, the girls also taught me the arts of dance. Long story short, they saved my life, and to this day I still deliver small pouches of money to their doorsteps to help feed their families whenever I could. As the mayor's and the sweetshop owner's daughter, I always had more than enough money to spare, and I owed them at least that.

I'm reminiscing on the days I spent on that faux crash course when the soap I had been washing with clatters to the floor and sends me crashing back into reality. I notice the water has run cold and I turn it off before grabbing my towel and stepping out. My good memories were always interrupted. When I go to retrieve my dress, I am greeted by my step-mother waiting for me by my bed.

"Connie," Everest chimes, smoothing out the dark purple dress that lays contrast against the black comforter of my bed. "I thought that maybe, we could talk while I brushed your hair." I'm sure my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. Everest liked to spend most of her time blowing my fathers penchant on fancy dresses for Iblis and herself or going into town to flaunt her money to her poor factory working family. She didn't do very much talking, and never forced me to communicate with her unless I absolutely wanted to, which I never did. It was the only reason I tolerated her.

As if reading my mind, Everest sighs and sits on my bed. "I wanted to speak with you about something," she begins. "I know it is uncommon for me to want to talk with you, since conversations with you are of a moot point. But I wanted to address you about your beauty... or lack thereof," she jokes, but her laugh falls short when she sees my frowning. Why were my looks a matter of concern? Now that I'm curious, I'm willing to humor her and oblige. I move my finger in a circular motion, asking her to turn around. When she does, I quickly towel off and put on my undergarments before clearing my throat and offering her my brush.

She nods and accepts, crossing the space from my bed to my vanity and taking the brush from my fingers. She is rough as she works out the wet kinks and tangles of my hair and I hiss in pain. But I do not pull away, because I know that this is a subject she desperately wishes to speak with me on, otherwise she would not be here. "This may seem sudden but I needed to get it off my chest, it's been weighing heavily on me ever since you've started to grow into a respectable young woman. As I'm sure you know, incest is not uncommon in your family." So that's what this is about.

Of course I know that incest isn't something uncommon, not only in my family but in the entirety of District 3. Some eight generations ago, father and daughter Franklin and Cassidy Rubio slept together on a whim, thus creating one of the most beautiful children anyone had ever laid eyes upon. They realized that by sleeping with someone of their own blood, they made extraordinary children. It was no secret that my mother and father were first cousins, and that their mothers and fathers had been brothers and sisters and such. The practice was taught throughout the District, but only a few families live by it. It was even rumored that if someone of one bloodline were to lay with someone of another house, the child would be one of the most hideous. Iblis was a perfect example of this, with her gangly legs, bucked, yellowed crooked teeth, and greasy thin red hair even though both Everest and my father were somewhat eye-candy.

"So of course, when you come of age you will be married off to either your father's brother, or one of his sons. And, if you're unfortunate, your own _father_," Everest grits out the last words, pulling a particularly thick kink out. I let out a small yelp, but still do not move away. Plugging in the curling iron, Everest takes a deep breath before continuing.

"You mustn't take your father from me. I love him more than anything in the world, and you must not allow your family traditions to steal him away. Promise me that when time comes, you will not take him from me." Sighing, I shake my head. I do not wish to have my father, and I want her to understand her fears in me are misplaced.

Everest breathes a sigh of relief and her touches become softer as she curls my hair and styles it into the elegant up-do I wear every reaping day. A strange emotion, something akin to guilt, crosses her expression before she is smiling again. "Thank you, Connie. I know this seems forward and sudden but I've just been watching you blossom and you catch everyone's eyes as you walk past so I thought... nevermind." She sets down my iron, shaking her head.

"Please excuse my foolish questions. Garrett is a good man, and Corrine is a good woman. They would never allow you to lay with your father - he loves you but not in that way. I have been asinine, I apologize." I wave her off, dismissing it. It wasn't very foolish at all, I could see as my family history would lead her to her doubts. Everest kisses the top of my head, before glancing at the clock that hangs above my vanity.

"I'm afraid that if you don't hurry, you won't be able to make it to the sweetshop this year," she states. I nearly jump out of my seat when I notice what she means. There had been two hours to the reaping when I came upstairs to dress. I had been wasting my time, and now there was only thirty minutes left. I could not afford to tarnish my fathers commendable reputation by being late. Quickly, I shoo Everest from my room and rush to get ready, finishing my hair by myself and going to slip the dress on.

My reaping dresses are always simple, even though I could get any dress I want with the amount of money flow my father receives from the Capitol. It's made of the softest velvet, with sleeves that come to my elbows and a skirt that moves like water around my legs. The hem stops around my thighs - much to my dismay - and the bodice isn't tight but it's held together enough so my breasts don't look sagged. The dress is of a deep red color this year, and the ribbon around the waist is black. I tie the ribbon in the back before putting on the small black heels that Elvira had chosen for me to wear.

I turn off my light and lock my bedroom door - no one, not even the maids or butlers, were allowed in my room when I was not around - before taking the stairs two at a time. Elvira is already downstairs, with Iblis between her knees as she tries to wrangle my half-sister's thin red hair into something presentable. The nine-year-old's chartreuse eyes glare holes in the back of my head as I bolt out of our house, hoping to make it to the sweetshop on time.

Unfortunately, when I arrive the shop is already closed down for the day, meaning my mum is already at the reaping. Anxiety finding it's way into my veins, I begin the dreaded walk towards the square. I usually spend my remaining time at the sweetshop with my mother on Reaping days, and then we walk to the reaping together. Next year, then.

Since I have no friends, I have no one my age to express my nerves with. Mostly because I prefer my silence, and most girls in my District are much too smart and loud for me. Not that I mind very much, but maybe Elvira is right when she says some company is overdue.

I sign in and go to stand next to a random girl. Instantly, her and her friends start their yearly staring. Not many people knew what happened, why my parents divorce had shaken me up so much. When I quit school, a few kids came around to check on me but apparently heard my screaming from when my parents were restraining me to get me to eat during my little private rebellion. They think I'm insane, or that there is a problem with me mentally. Their whispers are always harder to ignore during reapings.

I'm grateful when the monotone voice announces that the ceremonies will begin. My father gives his annual speech that kicks off the event and reads the treaty before playing the new video that our new President says is mandatory to display at every reaping from here on out. Everyone claps, but no one really listens to the words. It's nothing personal against my father, it's just that the process leading up to the choosing is a bit tedious. After the video finishes droning on - it's nothing different from our old one, just a different voice with different wording - our bright sunshine ray of an escort takes stage.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome, to the reaping of the 22nd Annual Hunger Games!" Our escorts Capitol accent rings throughout the square. I roll my eyes at Aeliana's color obsession this year. Everything she wears, from her too curly hair down to her too high heels is purple, including her tiger striped skin. I know Aeliana personally, she's been in my home an abundance of times. She has a nasty reputation of bedding one of our house workers every time she visits, and she even attempted to sleep with my father on one occasion. She's a lewd woman in the privacy of closed doors with a horrible personality when called out on her BS. I dislike her with passion, and I am secretly glad that her and my father were already at the square by the time I had finished dressing. Personal run-ins with her were not pleasant.

"As you all know, I'm your escort, Aeliana Rhode and I am the mistress of ceremonies. Now, we shall begin with the ladies!" Aeliana beams at us before clicking in her obnoxious heels towards the female ball. I roll my eyes for what will probably be the umpteenth time today. God, I hate that woman.

I am calm as she draws a name, the chances of me being reaped slim to none. I've never had to take tessarae, and I don't have any friends that I would take any for. All my distant family is wealthy - no one in our family has any chances of being reaped. There was nothing to worry about. Aeliana opens the slip, and her smile falters before fixing itself.

"Constantine Rubio," she announces, turning to look at my father and step-mother behind her. My father stands on stage, his mouth open in protest while Everest places her hand on his shoulder, in attempt to comfort him.

My heart seems to slam into my ribcage and then to stop with time. I curse my arrogance. Surely, there must be a mispronunciation or an error somewhere! The probability that I would be chosen wanes in comparison to the poor of our District!

My hands are trembling as they fly to cover my mouth and it feels as if my knees are rubber when I attempt to make my way onto the stage. I can feel my heart leaping out of my chest and my breathing is becoming ragged with anxiety. Fear is settling itself into my veins and taking over my emotions as I make the seemingly endless trip to my demise.

"Come on up, dearie. Come on," Aeliana cooes. Even though I'm moving at snails pace, the peacekeepers remain at ease. They know better than to rough house me because if they did my father would have their jobs in an instant. Whimpering like a pig going to slaughter, I force myself on the stage with what little functioning thought process I have left. I am careful not to trip over my feet, seeing as I don't want to make a fool of my District on national television.

"Ah yes, Constantine Rubio, ladies and gentlemen." Looking into the crowd, I spot my mother, clutching the ropes that separate her from the stage so tightly that her knuckles pale. Silent tears streak down her cheeks as she mouths my name in horror. When I look onto the screens, I realize that I too am crying, but I do not attempt to wipe my tears. I am too paralyzed in my fear to do much with my hands except leave them clasped to my mouth.

"And now, for our gentleman." Our frivolous escort clears her throat and announces before reaching one perfectly manicured hand into the boys ball and extracting one slip. Silently, I pray that my counterpart knows how to fight or is remarkably intelligent. I have neither of those talents, so maybe he can bring a victory back to District 3.

"Felix Hayward!" In the boys section, countless boys part in search of this 'Felix'. I know that we have several Felix's in our District, but only two of them are eligible for the Games. One of them is twelve. I rake my brain for an image of a 'Hayward' but I can think of nothing, so I can only pray it's not the twelve-year-old. "Felix Hayward, show yourself this instant!" Aeliana demands, her voice becoming shrill with annoyance. Peacekeepers all place their hands on their batons, prepared to drag my fellow sheep on stage by force. I can't help but note how they would treat someone they don't know with less respect that they treated me, and marvel at the hold my father has over the District enforcements.

At this exact moment, a disheveled looking boy with whitish hair and eyes dark with anger stumbles into the square, and all cameras are on him. I take this opportunity to pry my hands from my face, swipe the tears that had begun to tickle at me and give a glance back to my father and Everest - my step-mother in which mouths something along the lines of 'I'm sorry'. I flash them a small sad smile before turning back to face the crowd.

"I'm assuming you're Felix! In that case, how nice of you to join us!" Aeliana clips at the boy. He grumbles something to Aeliana that makes her scoff and flips my father an offensive finger at him before he takes stage. There is minimal laughter at the gesture. Now that I have a face to put with the name, I recognize him as one of the boys my father is always having phone calls to deal with and trying to convince to 'conform'. It was usually after conversations with him that he told me he was glad I was a good girl. Felix is a troublemaker, one of the drug peddlers from the darkness of our District, and I instantly feel relief. He knows how to fight and to survive. Whereas our District has no chance with me, they have a chance with him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you your tributes for the 22nd Annual Hunger Games, Felix Hayward and Constantine Rubio." When it comes time for us to shake hands, I can't help but notice his grip is a little too tight and his mouth forms a sneer at me. And so I take on the boys personal vendetta against my father.

* * *

Everest is in first, and she comes alone. I notice her make-up is running along with her nose, and my being reaped is taking a larger toll on her than I thought. She pulls me into a tight embrace and holds me there, her snot dribbling onto my shoulder.

"I'm... s-s-sorry... I-I-I d-d-didn't t-t-think t-t-that t-t-they-" I cut her off by pulling away and shaking her shoulders angrily. I was coming to terms with my imminent death, but seeing her so broken over it would just make me start crying again. Everest nods her head, before taking a handkerchief and blowing her nose loudly.

"I have committed the unforgivable. I noticed that your father and mother had been spending more time together, and that you and your father are closer than before. I thought that... I thought you all were planning..." She trails off, that look of guilt she'd been staring at me with all day filling her eyes once more.

"In a moment of blind fury, I hacked the database for the reaping slips and put your name on every single one that was to be printed. I tried to changed it, but the slips were already printed and in the bowl by then. There was no way you could have gotten out of that reaping and gone home." It takes a moment for her words to settle in, because I honestly can't believe it. That look of guilt when she was brushing my hair, the 'I'm sorry' after I was reaped. Everest set me up to die as one last 'screw you' to my mum. My own step-mother sent me to my slaughter.

Rage begins to boil in my veins, and I slap Everest with every bit of strength I have. She stumbles back, clutching her cheek in pain as I advance on her. I try to speak, to tell her how I feel, but my tongue is heavy. I don't want to waste my first words in five years on the woman that killed me anyways.

"Please, can you beseech your heart for forgiveness?" She asks, her eyes wide with sorrow, regret and shame. This woman that had told me she loved me when I ate breakfast this morning and I had trusted with my most intimate and personal secrets... had simply betrayed me. This woman who I - though at first, grudgingly - came to accept as a second mother... had rigged me to die as if it was as simple as painting her nails.

I'm sure my face is red with anger as I swing open the door and drag her out of my goodbye room by her hair. Everest begins screaming when I dump her on the floor of the hallway. I prepared to pounce on her, to kill her if I could - it would only be one of the deaths that would fall upon my hands, so why not get practice - but Peacekeepers notice the exchange and drag her away from me before I can do damage.

Breathing hard, I turn to go back inside and attempt to cool off but someone grabs my arm and spins me around into a strong embrace. The smell of expensive cologne fills my nostrils and I desperately hold on to the comfort my father brings. Another pair of arms wrap around me and they smell of peppermint.

My parents pain ricochets off mine and my heart clenches, attempting to ward off its inner turmoil. This is the most hurt I've felt in years, I almost forgot what it felt like. Foolish of me, I should have known better than to think that somehow adults wouldn't cause anymore agony. The ones that lack the most innocence bring the worst of sorrow.

"Oh my sweet girl," my father cooes, pulling away from me eventually and sitting like standing another moment would surely break him. "I'm so sorry your fate has come of this. I didn't think... I did everything I could to make sure you weren't reaped. I even rigged the reaping last year when my intuition was nagging at me." I am baffled at this information. Who's right was it to decide my fate? Twice that I know of, people have dabbled in whether or not my downfall will be quick or prolonged into old age. How many times has my ending been changed by the whimsy of another? Frequently, it seems, by my father's power. I didn't even know Mayors had that much leeway, to simply do as they please. I am, quite frankly, disgusted.

"I am offended that you have treated me as fragile," I say finally. Both my parents look up, shocked. I realize that I have broken what seemed to be a five-year-silence in minutes. Shrugging a bit, I continue. "I'm afraid I can't appreciate the gesture."

"Oh baby doll!" My father stands again, kissing the top of my head as well and holding both my mother and myself to his chest. They sob again, but I do not shed a tear more. My tears have been shed, my fate accepted. So I remain squished between them, a frown on my face. Physical contact was not my forte.

Eventually they gather themselves to speak. "Wouldn't you have a slur? Wouldn't your words be choked and difficult? I do not follow, my sweet." My mother cooes. I smile wistfully.

"I have broken my silence many times while alone. I cannot write without speaking aloud, mother. It affects my ability to write coherent words. I speak in my sleep, often. I speak to my stuffed animals even, when the silence is deafening. I am only silent where there is none." There. My secret is out.

I expect rage and frustration, that I put them through hell like that, worrying sick over my mental health. But they look at me in adoration and love. The silence is deafening, so I twirl my fingers awkwardly. My parents had learned that I still possess the mental capacity to form words. If I do - by some off miracle - come home, will they expect me to speak all the time? I like my speechlessness. It's what seperates me from the other rich girls of our District. It makes me... me.

"My dear, we thought our songbird had lost her voice. Even in this moment that should be of sorrow and morning, I am happy," he says eventually, dabbing at his eyes. "I suppose you'll need a token." My father thinks before he removes his wedding ring and my mother's wedding ring that they both still wear and places them on the chain of my charm necklace - a necklace given to the babies of our family so that they can grow in grace, beauty, love and health.

"I never thought you would get reaped, so I never thought of a token for you. This should be a symbol of our families never ending love whilst you are in the arena. I'm so sorry, princess. I love you."

"I love you too, Constantine," my mother croaks, her voice hoarse from tears. Looking at both them, with fresh tears shining in their eyes and sad but loving smiles on their lips, I nod. I don't need to say it back. They already know that I love them.

After that, I lapse back into my silent thoughts and my parents leave with knowing smiles.


	5. District 4 Reaping: Two Careers

**A/N (Glossy): **I sent everyone a PM that I need a chapter from. If you got one, but you sent your chapter, resend it because as far as I know it never got through. Also D5 female is open so if anyone wants her you can get her. She doesn't have to be a bloodbath.

**Aswan Portego, 18 (written by stuckathomebgs)**

**District 4 Male**

I wake up and feel the other side of the bed, with my wife, Lucina, absent, only the ghost of warmth from when she was there. I about cry for help when I remember her getting up to nullify the children's relentless hunger.

I smile, remembering Romero and Rowena, the little rascals who are one of the only reasons that I like to exist in this country.

I put on the dull grey shirt I was wearing this morning and saunter down the stairs, to see my wife's face light up with excitement to see me. I pull her into a hug as she was making the usual breakfast, dull corn flakes from District 9.

"Are you ready for today, Aswan?" Lucina asks worriedly, reminding me that I have to volunteer for the Hunger Games in about three hours' time.

"No, but I have to." I reply, kissing her on the cheek as she sits on the couch next to me. "I'll win it for you, sweetheart. And so that Romero and Rowena can grow up having a dad.

"Aswan, do you really have to?" Lucina starts to cry, her short, black hair falling in front of her face, like a wicked veil.

"I have to, or they'll kill us." I respond as I pull her into a hug.

I kiss her one last time in our humble house, changing into my training wardrobe in the bathroom, where I brush teeth, then put on some deodorant, since it's been pointed out that I smell terrible afterwards.

On the walk to the Academy, I get many looks of apology from neighbors, even a hug from old Fishboot, an old fisherman that we do not know by any other name.

"Good luck, Ass-wan." Fishboot jokes.

I snort, thanking the man then rushing to the Academy.

Kasabian Pontecorvo, my mentor for the Hunger Games, pulls me into a quick hug before we start training.

"Ready for today?" the victor of the 20th Hunger Games says roughly.

"I guess I have to be, or I'll be dead before I know it." I reply solemnly.

"No you won't," Kasabian laughs. "You've trained a lot, you're a force to be reckoned with using the trident and nets. I'd say you've got an amazing shot of District 4 having three victors in a row."

I remember last year's victor, our own Darian Kloet, who won with great skill using throwing knives.

I ensnare a moving dummy then spear it with the trident, something I've come to do rather fluently, which could be the way how I might have to take out other tributes.

I then try to use matches, which flurries with fire after I coax it for about fifteen seconds. The fire is comforting, like the faint smell of sea salt in our home. I then immediately put it out with water then rush away, something else I'm good at. I used to run a lot when I was littler, trying to get into shape to become a future volunteer for District 4.

That was actually one of the many reasons my parents split up. My dad was very, influential, let's call it, on me volunteering. He pushed me too hard, according to my mom, who split the ties with my dad when I was fourteen.

But I guess I have to be grateful to the old worm, since he contributed some money for Lucina and me to get a place of our own. I thanked him the only time I ever saw him since then.

"Ready, Aswan?" Kasabian asks, I realize I've been daydreaming again.

"Sure." I reply simply.

I chuck some spears at some dummies, which I do the same with throwing knives, which aren't my forte at all, I miss a lot of the dummies, getting the last one, pure luck, I say.

"Ok, go home and get ready for what's to come, I'll see you in two hours." Kasabian says passively.

I come up with a question to ask him about then, so I turn around.

"KASABIAN!" I yell a little too loudly, disturbing a tomcat walking around, that hisses at me and scuttles away.

"Yes, my boy?" He inquires.

"Can you take care of Lucina and the twins if I don't come back?" I ask. "I mean, just check up on her, help her with my loss, if I don't come …"

"Whoa, stop it there." He states insistently. "You're going to come back, you've the best of chance as any other person out there."

"Okay, thanks Kasabian." He pats me on the back as I rush back to my house.

I get more hugs and many guys from the fishery offer to check up on the family.

"Thanks you all, but I've really got to get home." I state insistently.

I rush into the house, seeing Lucina with Rowena.

"She said her first word!" She cries happily.

"Mama, mama!" Rowena cries languidly, obviously needing a nap.

"Whose that guy, Rowena?" Lucina asks as I loop my arm behind her, pulling her into an embrace.

"Mama, mama!" She states, making us both keel over from laughter as she falls asleep.

"Well, we've got to get ready." I whisper.

"Mmmhmm." Lucina murmurs distractedly.

I grab the pale blue suit from the closet, putting the suit hanger on the door handle as I shower.

I hear Rowena from the living room, saying 'mama' incessantly.

I dry off, looking down as the wet floor, wiping up the water distractedly with the same towel I used. I put on the pants as Lucina comes in, kissing me on the lips.

I wrap my arms around her as she puts her hands on my chest.

"Ready to go, Aswan?" She asks me, which is one of the many times I've been asked that same phrase today.

"Yeah, just let me put the suit on, and I'll be ready to go." I respond, kissing her cheek.

Our babysitter, one of Lucina's older friends named Arable, who's very quirky in my opinion, takes Romero and Rowena as we leave.

"Good luck, Hotpants." Arable teases, insisting the nickname since Lucina and I started dating.

"Thanks, Fishface." I hug Arable, thanking her for taking care of the twins for us.

"No problem, Officer Pants." She says smiling, crying a little as I get ready to do the worst thing in my life.

Arable shuts the door, as we finally get to the table where two Capitol attendants sit.

"Fingers, please." Lucina and I hold them out as they prick them, Lucina jerks as I put my other arm around her to comfort her as we separate.

"Love you, Aswan." She hugs me as I head towards the eighteen year old boys.

I stand in between two boys that look around, knowing to find the volunteer somewhere. I don't tell them, so they can wait for the surprise later.

"WELCOME, YOUNG TRIBUTES!" Yells our escort, Giovana, from atop the stage.

I give Lucina a smile and a wave as she waves back, they announce the name.

"Luc-" I stop shocked.

"I volunteer!" Sneers a girl, who is obviously the selection.

That was terrifying, Lucina almost got reaped for the Hunger Games I was going in, I almost start to cry as the next name is announced.

"Alabast-"

"I volunteer!" I yell as I step forward onto the stage, looking at Lucina and smiling to her, which seems to give her a sliver of comfort.

"Good luck, tributes, and may the odds be EVER, in your favor!" Giovana yells.

"Good luck, Aswan." The girl says as we shake hands, and I leave for the room.

The first person I meet isn't Lucina, but my mom, Hanna, who pulls me into a hug.

"You can win, Aswan." She says, being strong, as I've seen other mothers crying in the past. "You're strong, and you can use tridents, and remember, the Careers can protect you only for a while, when it gets down to the wire, they'll turn on you. But remember, you can take them down, Aswan."

"Thanks mom, it's good to see you at a time like this." I hug her one last time.

"I love you, Aswan!" She screams as the Peacekeepers escort her away.

Then, an ungodly silence, but that's immediately broken by the sound of my dad, Caul, as he storms in.

"THREE-PEAT! THREE-PEAT! THREE-PEAT!" He laughs, pulling me into a hug and giving me a slap on the back.

"That's enough, dad." I stare at him, making him start it up again.

There's no way else, Caul Mendez is fat. He has a barrel chest, which hasn't helped from his incessant drinking of wine.

The Peacekeepers drag him out with another silence, as the next guest, even more surprising, is Arable and my two kids.

"You can do it Ho- Hotpants." Arable cries, hugging me as the two kids sit in the chairs.

"Dada, dada!" The twins cry as I pick them up in my arms.

"I taught them that, just for you." Arable smiles, pushing up her glasses. "They'll be cheering for dada.

"Thank you, Arable, this is the best present I could have." I let a tear go down my face as she leaves with the twins.

Next is the person I've been waiting for, Lucina.

"This won't be the last time I'll see you." She smiles, pulling me into a hug, kissing my lips for hopefully not the last time.

"I'll always love you, Lucina." I cry even more. "Everything I do is so I can get back to you guys."

She hugs me, unbuttoning my suit, feeling my back with her arms, then putting her hands on my chest as she's taken away.

"I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!" She yells quickly as the Peacekeepers take her away.

I quickly re-button my suit top as the Peacekeepers take me to the train. I smile as I walk onto the train that will take me to my probable doom.

This is, of course, if you take Aswan, and thanks for considering!

**Flin Ponalina, 18 (written by little miss innocent liar)**

**District 4 Female**

As my father said, as his father said, and the list goes onto more dead old men. They all said the same chant to themselves, just like they will made their sons chant. And at first the son will never think of saying such a line but as time goes on it feels like a rite of passage to say it. I did the same thing, thinking I would never ever say something like that.

"There is poetry in brutal efficiency" I mumbled. I fondly remember when my father first said it to me when I was a child with chubby cheeks and small hands.

I threw a glance at my hand, seeing scars coat around my fingers and palms. My attention was drawn to the cut on my right ring finger that had still not healed from a slick and sharp fish fin. I leaned in closer, looking at it from a better view. I sniffed it a few times, then I drew my tongue across the cut. I tasted blood.

So it was still open.

I looked around my room for something to make sure the salt water wouldn't get into the cut but I soon gave up on such a task. The bandaged would fall off in the water. Then I would be out of bandages and have to get more. The sea salt would probably do the cut justice, maybe it would clean it out? Shaking my head, I stood up, taking off my night clothes.

Nothing flashy, just shorts and a singlet. I walked over to my dresser, putting on another pair of shorts and a singlet. I looked at the mirror for a brief second, first realizing how I looked. I wasn't pretty, that was for sure. I was…okay. I gently ran my hand over my ashen blonde hair, looking at all the splits hairs and noting on how dry it felt between my fingers. I shook my head again "Don't think about it" I muttered, tying it into a tight low pony tail and marching out of my room.

"Took you long enough" My father quickly commented, standing up and stretching. "I was going to leave without you, Flin", and we started walking out the door.

"You're too vain to not bring me to the harbour" I pointed out, watching him.

He was silent for a few seconds then he scoffed "That's my girl" and he ruffled my hair before looking at his hand. "Your hair is all rough" he pointed out to me.

I nodded "I know, but I don't really care"

He nodded to me, as if I has passed some test. Maybe I had. The test of being unfeminine as possible and not even taking care of myself. That sounded like some test he would have for me. My father is head of the bay fishers union. It's his job to make sure all the fishermen fill their quota with fish and too also make sure we don't over fish a certain breed and to make sure no fish gets stolen. I've worked on his boats for six years now. But I started working when I was three untangling nets, when I was twelve I moved up to working on the boats.

We walked in silence, both of us not trying to break the silence. I took my time to admire the city that was distract four. It was beautiful, building designed to hold out floods and even the strongest of winds while still looking so beautiful. I looked at the cobalt stone walkaway as I smelt the sea air and heard the sea bird's song.

It wasn't really song. It was squawks of a pest. Dad looked at the bird, picking up a stone and throwing it at the bird. The bird didn't see the stone and it hit its wing, causing it to squawk and fly away, letting out more pained squawks. "Damn rats with wings" he muttered, and he looked "But that was a good hit, yeah?"

I nodded "But you could have aimed for the head and just killed it"

He rolled his eyes "You keep up with that smart mouth and I'll throw a rock at you"

I stop for a moment, looking at him more seriously. He met my gaze and he starred each other down before he looked away, rolling his eyes "You and your damn…" he muttered the last bit to himself, like it was a curse and I raised an eyebrow, following him like a child did, watching his heels move.

Once we reached the boat, he cracked his neck and I followed, stretching out my arms, trying to get my muscles ready. "What kind of fish?" I asked, looking at my father as he put a cigarette in his mouth as he looked at this week's fishing regiments, "We get sword fish," he said, placing it down a running a hand through his blonde hair "Fucking hate them".

Of course my father hated them. We were sword fishing when we came back to the house to find it empty and a 'Dear John' letter on the table. My father ripped apart the note, and he smashed the table. I watched him as he did it and he looked at me, grabbing me by my shirt and asked me if I knew.

I shook my head, holding his rabid gaze.

He sighed, letting go of my shirt "Sorry Flinny" and he sat down on the couch, resting his feet on the remains of the table with a cigarette between his teeth. He then stood up, taking out an old bottle of rum, pouring two shots, taking one for himself and giving the other to me.

I can still remember the sweet burn.

I nodded at him. Sword fishing required nets, tridents and a whole lot of muscle. I opened of the weapons compartment, picking up the biggest trident we had and tossing it to my father before picking up my own and I looked at my father, nodding "Take us into sword fish country" and he walked over to the wheel, kicking the engine to life and we started to move.

I watched the sunrise for the most part, counting the dolphin and the sea lions. We sometimes spotted a shark and we would look at it for a few minutes before shrugging that it was too small, or that it was a female shark. Once we stopped, the sun was almost up. "C'mere, fishy, fishy" he said, dumping some fish brew into the water.

I watched the red brew hit the water, spreading out. Wouldn't be long know until the waters would be full of fish, mainly swordfish prey. It took around ten minutes for us to spot the first sword. Dad clicked his fingers at me, pointing at the fish, we both nodded at each other as we readied the nets.

I threw my net in and we went into action. We grabbed the ends on the net, holding the sword in place or trying to bring it closer to the ship. I placed my foot on the railing, pushing all my weight against the railing to make the fish come closer. My father yelled out "It's almost in range, get ready!"

I nodded, grinding my teeth as the fish kept of thrashing about, spraying water everywhere. Once my father demeaned in range of the tridents he shouted "Now!" and I let one of my hands grab for my trident it and I sent it into the sword's neck, my father got it in the head. The fish stopped thrashing and we used the tridents to pull it closer to the boat, then we grabbed the nets and pulled it on board.

"Big fish" I said, crossing my arms over my chest, watching it twitch a bit more, trying to breathe air that wasn't meant for it to ever breathe. He nodded, grabbing it by the tail and hosting it on the hooks through the end of its tail.

"Come on, we got more work to do" he said and I nodded, picking up my trident again.

We fishing for a few more hours until it was 7 am. He counted five sword fishes and he put a new cigarette in his mouth, sighing "Guess that's all the bites where going to get"

"And I have reaping" I pointed out, rolling my shoulder as I walked to him "Let's get back, I want to change"

"Into what?"

"My reaping clothes, I have to look nice"

"Says who?" he scoffed, not believing that I cared about my appearance.

"The academy, they want me looking nice to volunteer"

We reached land and we picked up the sword's, walking over to the market. The morning market was bustling and I side stepped out of the way for a few people, but the younger ones, upon recognising me, moved out of the way. "I said I had to get ready" I pointed out to him again, shotting him a look.

"This will be five minutes. Don't act like a child" father snapped at me and I fell silent as they walked up to a store in the marker. Father slapped down the sword meat, talking about price and I rolled my eyes. I looked up to see Regull Varidi looking at me. I look back at him.

His curly blonde locks and brown eyes and freckles suited him. I nodded at him and he nodded back.

We never speak, but then again I never speak to anyone they all end up getting angry at me when I point something out. But the truth hurts. But I guess that makes me an ass. Oh well, someone needs to point out flaws in things. It's how we improve.

I walked back to the house, my father counting his money. We walked into the house, my father walking into the kitchen as I walked into my room.

The academy gave me clothes to wear, which was nice of them I suppose. But I think they just think I have bad taste in clothes. They're right. But I still didn't need it pointed out. I looked at the dress, running my fingers along the soft fabric. It was sea foam green 'just like your eyes' as my teacher and trainer said.

I unzipped the zipper and slid through it, zipping it up. It's a long dress with long sleeves. I looked at my reflection in the mirror before twirling in front of it. I smile at my reflection and I twirl again in the opposite direction. My hair got lose from my pony tail and my hair becomes undone, resting on my shoulders. I stop, still grinning as I run my hands down the dress again.

If I have never gotten the career scholarship, I would have never been able to even think about attending the academy. I was a prodigy they told me. I was simply too good to be just a fishermen. I had to have that shot they told and my father. And with those words my father signed those papers and I was a career hopeful with ambition. It's only natural they should send me this year.

I walk out of my room, hearing my father open up a bottle of whiskey. It's one of the older bottles, one that he pulls out when he has people over or when he's in a really good mood. Or when it's a birthday. He whistled over to me, and I walked over to him.

He looked at me before a small grin tugged on his face, "You do look nice, kid"

"Thanks"

He pours four shots all to the brim and he slides two of the four to me and keep two for himself.

I guess this is why Mom left, maybe she had enough with his drinking and his never spending anytime at home. Maybe she just ran out of love. But I find that hard to believe. No one knew where my mother went, where she had gone. At first my father wanted to know where she was but then he kind of just gave up on such a pointless task of finding a woman who didn't love him.

I have to agree with him.

"I am proud of you Flin. I really am" my father said suddenly, making me look up at him. "Even if you weren't going to volunteer, you'd still be my kid. Besides" and a grin slides onto his face "When you were 12 you where wielding a trident like a damn natural while all the other fishers kids still had snot noses and chubby cheeks" and he took one of the shot glasses, downing it.

I followed his example, downing it and then placing the shot glass down gently. At first it was sweet then it hits the back of your throat and you feel the burn. It used to burn a lot worse but I guess I'm used to the taste know and how great it felt when I felt the buzz at the back of my head.

But it always felt nice to spend time with my dad like this. Some of the other academy kids don't even get looked at by their parents or even payed attention to. But it wasn't like my father to show much something meant to him, he was just one of those men. But I always knew he cared. I guess some careers don't know the answer to that question. I took the next shot glass, downing it as well. "That's my girl" he laughed, "How about if you come home I'll give you any bottle you want as a moving in present to your new home?"

I nodded "Yeah that sounds nice"

My father opens his arms and I stare at him for a few seconds before walking towards him and hugging him. Of course my father is stronger than me. I rest my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes for a brief second to enjoy such a brief moment of gentleness between us before h pulls away, stacking up the glass and starts walking towards the door for the reaping. I follow him, stuffing my hands in the dresses' pockets.

The walk is quick, and I can see the streamers and flyers and the banners. This year's decorations look really tacky. To me at least. I look at my father's face and I see him eyeing the pink banner in disgust and I grin. He walks to the adult section, and I sign in.

I used to hate the prick of the needle but now it just feels like a tap compared to all the other ways I got the cuts and scars of my fingers. I also have some on my legs as well from when my legs graze against sharp coral while I was diving for crab. The coral scars, as everyone calls them, always hurt the most.

I cross my arms over my chest, rolling my eyes as I watch the career girls give me dirty looks. But I guess I would be angry in the same situation, dedicated only gods knows how many hours into an event that was only two weeks long. But I guess that same thing could be said for me. But in a way I guess they respect me, just like I respect them. They put gods know how many hours into an even that was only two weeks long that they may die in. It was admirable in a way.

First the mayor gave his speech about his great things were going. And it really was going well. We had a great season of fish this year, and only a few storms. Then he talked about crime and then about the capitol then it was the escorts turn to speak.

I used to like the distract escort. The old one had a love for mermaids and always wore dresses that flared out at their feet but where tight like a second skin on their bust. Their green and blue hair that seemed to change in the light was my favourite. But this distract escort I didn't even bother looking at, just rolling my eyes as I heard their accent pronounce certain words. It made me want to roll my eyes to the back of my head and fall asleep.

But that would be rude. And I would miss my chance to volunteer and then where would I be?

I would be alive but I also would have wasted a lot of people's time and money. So I'll volunteer. The escort drew their hand into the reaping bowl, taking out a name and before they can even say anything, I hear a boy's voice yell out "I volunteer"

My eyes go wide because I realize who that is. And it isn't who was supposed to volunteer this year. It was Aswan. The fishermen's kids. Not Sacel, who had trained with me for three months so we knew each other's fighting still and had planned to kill the in games first. I look over to my right to see Sacel starring wide eyes at him, then a snarl pulls onto his face as he looks like he's ready to kill him. A few of the other boys grab at his arms, keeping him in the 18 year old section but they look equally angry at him.

This wasn't how it was planned at all. For a brief moment, I let panic thoughts slip into my head as I think that some other young kid is going to take my place. I look around the girls section, trying to match thought to a face. But I quickly pinch myself, trying to ward off those thoughts as I hear the escort call out 'And now for the girls!'

I don't even let her hand leave the bowl because I yell "I volunteer!"

The walk to the stage was the longest walk I've ever taken in my life. Every step I stook I felt eyes on me and if I moved faster the eyes would multiply. So I just took my time as I kept my head straight on ahead, trying everything I could to ignore all the eyes.

I looked at Aswan and he gave me a charming smile. Which I didn't return. Why would we be smiling at each other? We are careers but come crunch time we won't. We still shook hands, his bigger hands wrapping around my smaller, much more scarred ones.

"Here are your tributes distract four!"

We walk to the justice building, going into our rooms to say goodbyes. Without surprise, my father is my visitor. And probably my only. We make small talk and he chuckles "You didn't even let that red skinned idiot say the little brat's name. I like that" he chuckled again, crossing his arms over his chest.

A look fall's over his face. A solemn look. He takes his golden ring with wave cravings on it and he hands it to me. "It won't fit" I say, sliding it onto my thin fingers and I watch it dangle. He sighs and I look up at him "I will like it though, I'll keep it in my pocket so I won't lose it".

Dad smiles at this and for the first time I realize how old he is. I can see wrinkles at the sides of his eyes and wear he smiles, the hair's that have starting to grey. In a rush of emotions, I hug him one final time, remembering all the times we went fishing and all the times he talked about me to his friends and how proud he was of me. My father really loved me.

"I love you" he said. It was the gentleness in his voice that made my heart thunder and my throat clog. My father is not an emotional person and neither am I but I am a god damn human being and I can show my emotions for a small amount of time. I need this. I just need to get it out of my system before the games.

I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the sea salt air and the smoke and the hard liquor before I pull away, rubbing my puffy eyes. To my surprise he doesn't say anything, he just ruffles my hair again "See you soon, Flinny" and like that he's gone.

I sit back down again, taking a deep breath in and out but I am caught off guard when the door open's again. It's Sacel. He's smiling at me but the smile doesn't reach his eyes but at least he's trying to muster up some dignity.

He sits down and I see him open his mouth to talk but I bet him to it "Why are you here?" I demanded, looking straight at him.

Sacel sighs, running a hand through his brown hair and his green eyes looking at me sadly "I just…wanted to say goodbye and that" he trails off gently, "I really wanted to go into the games with you Flin"

"I didn't" I tell him, watching his face twist in surprise and confusion.

"Why?" he asks quizzically.

"You're too nice. You'd do something stupid for someone" I answered him.

As if to prove a point, he laughs "I guess I am". I take out my dad's ring, looking at it gently and I guess Sacel must be looking at it as well "Does it fit?" he asks, raising an eyebrow "Because that looks like a man's ring"

"It is"  
"Oh" he mumbled, then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a thin string of leather "Maybe I could make it a necklace for you? I think you'd lose something like that in the arena"

I look back at the ring, nodding. I stood up, walking towards him and turning my back, handing him the ring. I crane my head over my shoulder to watch him thread the ring through the leather with ease and tie a knot to keep the knot around the ring secure. I guess that was to make sure it didn't move, I guess.

Then he puts the necklace around my neck, tying it in place. His hands move away and I run my fingers along the string and I reach my ring. I turn around at him, nodding "Thank you. But you proved my point in being too nice"

Sacel was always too nice anyways. But he was popular and smart, he didn't need to games to do well. He already was doing well. He opens his arms for a hug and I stare at him for a few seconds. We had trained for the games together and we knew our strengths and weakness like our own. But I never considered him my friend at all. I preferred to be alone anyways.

"Aw come on, even after I helped you?" he asks me, raising his eyebrows in a grin. I sigh, walking over to him and giving him a short hug and pulling away. "But, keep your eyes open Flin. I know you're you so don't piss off too many people, yeah" he says with a breathy laugh.

"I can't help it"

He laughs again "Come home soon, at least one of the careers of four is going into the games, so don't screw up. But see you later Flin. Don't die" and with that he winks, leaving the room. I wave him goodbye, and once he leaves I roll my eyes.

But I look at my necklace and smile, bringing my knees to my chest as I sat on the plush couch. That was really nice of him. Which is the exact thing I can not be in the games. I take a deep breath in, closing my eyes for a couple of seconds. Win.


	6. District 6 Reaping: Rich and Convict

**A/N (Glossy): **Here is our first Reaping! This is very exciting and there is only one author that has not yet contacted me. I'll be getting the mentors up soon, probably over the weekend. Shoot for 2000-3000 words on your Reaping, but more isn't bad.

**Alistair Cowles, 17 (written by President Snowflake)**

**District 6 Male**

"I'm _bored_."

"You're always bored," I say, lifting my gaze lazily to find the face of Kendall in the rear-view mirror.

He turns away from the window and scowls in my direction. "Well then, that's a problem to be fixed. Let's go do something."

"Everything's closed, silly." Sullivan giggles in his seat next to Kendall and gives the redhead a friendly shove. "It's reaping day."

"Exactly. It's a holiday, for crying out loud, why is there nothing to do? We should throw a party."

"Happy Send Two Kids Off To Die Day?" Evander suggests drily from behind the wheel.

I groan, letting my head loll all the way back until it hits the headrest of my seat. _Ow_. "Way to be a buzzkill _again_. Why don't you drive us into a ditch while you're at it?"

"If you don't all shut up, I just might."

He's kidding, of course. Not because of the threatening-to-kill-us part; there are days where I honestly fear for my safety around my easily irritated, slightly murderous-looking friend. But this is his father's car—more to the point, it's the _mayor's _car. Despite 6's main industry being transportation, only the mayor and a select few of his workers are allowed vehicles for "official business". As Evander's father is paralysed from the waist down, however, he usually relies on his son to do the driving. This morning, he thinks he's sent Evander out to pick up the escort from the train station and take her into town. Of course, Kendall, Sullivan and I immediately jumped on the opportunity to enjoy a little joyride around the district first.

Mind you, _joy_ride might be a rather inappropriate term. Not much joyful about 6—at least, not with the poor part we're touring around currently. I curl my lip as we pass yet _another _unwashed beggar on the street and quickly roll up the window—don't want to get infected with germs. I hear peasantitis can be deadly to people of my standing.

"Hey." I can see Kendall's sly smile in the mirror as he peers out his own window. "Pull over here, would you, 'Vander? I've got a couple spare pennies. Want to see how desperate these bums will get? Might be entertaining."

"Ooh!" Sullivan claps his hands and beams. "Let's! Sounds like fun!"

I shudder. "Ick, no, do you realise how dirty it is out there? I don't want that gunk touching me."

"Oh, yucky. Al's right, it looks gross, and my shoes are worth more than this entire street."

"Come on, we don't even have to leave the car," Kendall says, meeting Sullivan's now-doubtful gaze. "'Vander, just pull over here."

Evander makes a big show of sighing; for someone who hates dramatics, he can be worse than the rest of us combined. "Fine. But if mud gets on the car, you three are washing it."

I snort. "Please, we'll pay to have it washed." My parents did _not _open the most successful factory in 6 for me to _work_. Just the thought makes me shudder. Menial labour is so . . . _horrifying._

Reluctantly pulling over to the curb, Evander puts the car in park and waits with the rest of us for the show to begin. Kendall smirks as he withdraws three pennies from his pocket and calls into the nearest alley, "Oi! Hobos!"

Within the shadows of the back street, I can see a few people flinch. They glare at us angrily until Kendall laughs and shouts, "Enjoy!"

He hurls the pennies their way, and immediately, chaos erupts. I swear, it's like a Hunger Games bloodbath; the nearest beggar lunges for the coins while another shrieks, clawing at his back. A third jumps on both of them, and soon there's a writhing mass of unwashed panhandles rolling around in the dirt, scrambling to grab those few shimmers of bronze. Kendall cackles, and Sullivan laughs in delight, but I just shake my head. Homeless people are stupid—I mean, hello, a penny is worth like, _nothing_. Peasants.

Quickly growing bored with the fight beside the car, my attention starts to wander and focuses instead on a new sight. "Hang on," I murmur, sitting up in my seat. "Is that . . . no way." Rolling down the window, I stick my head outside and shout, "Giselle Thorton, what _are_ you doing in this _deplorable _part of our district?"

The three girls in fancy dresses crossing the street ahead of us stop short as their leader searches for the source of my voice. Our eyes meet and I can see she's been crying—her mascara is trailing all down her face, yikes—but the moment our gazes cross, her face breaks out in a wide grin. "Oh, Ally-bear!" she calls back, waving her arms as she races towards the car as fast as her high heels allow.

"She's yours for this week?" Evander asks, narrowing his eyes at the approaching girl and her friends struggling to keep up behind her.

"Yep."

"_Ally-bear_?"

"It's not lasting past this week."

Evander snorts just as Giselle reaches us. Ignoring the fact that there's a rather solid car door between her and me, she snakes her arms through the open window and flings them around my neck, planting a loud, wet kiss on my cheek. And I mean _wet_—definitely been crying. "Ally-bear, what are you doing out here?"

"Evander's taking us for a spin," I say, gesturing to my friend, who acknowledges Giselle's wave of greeting with a stiff tilt of his head. All rich kids know each other in 6—probably because there's so few of us and we only ever interact with each other. After all, poor people make poor company. Haha, see what I did there? My wit never ceases to amaze me. "What are you girls doing out here?"

Giselle's lip trembles once, and before I know it, she's melting back down into hysteric sobs, bawling loudly into my shoulder. I resist the urge to tell her my shirt is the finest satin from 8, which she is currently ruining with her tears and mucus, and instead resort to patting her reassuringly on the back; I may not be the most permanent of boyfriends, but I am an _excellent_ one for as long as I last, thank you very much. "There, there. It's all right, my beautiful angel. What happened?"

"Her usual washer woman was sick," Rosalie, one of Giselle's friends, explains. "She sent her dress out to another living in this part of the district, and we just went to pick it up before we realised the woman hasn't cleaned it yet. Claims it's reaping day and she's got more important things to worry about than washing clothes."

"Like her s-stupid, u-u-_ugly _children," Giselle howls into my shirt. "I was supposed to wear that dress for the ceremony today! _Now _what will I do?"

"I could have sworn you were already dressed for the reapings," I say, softly cupping Giselle's cheeks with my hands and pulling her away from my shirt so I can look into her eyes. "You are radiant, darling. You'd look amazing in anything, but that dress? Is that lace from District One?"

Giselle's already flushed cheeks blush an even darker red. "My mother imported it for my sixteenth birthday."

"Then what are you worrying about? You'll be just fine."

"A-Are you sure? But now my mascara is running—oh, I even got some on your shirt . . ."

I use all my willpower to refrain from squealing and checking for myself, instead forcing my gaze to stay focused on Giselle. "Well, you can just come back to my house to fix yourself up. Evander," I say, switching my attention over to my friend. "We're taking these lovely ladies home."

"Can we all fit?" Giselle's other friend, Valentina, peers uncertainly into the back of the car, where Kendall and Sullivan grin back at her. All interest in fighting peasants disappears when attractive, rich girls are around, apparently. My friends just recently became single, but as always with us, that never lasts very long.

"Of course you can," Kendall says, flinging the car door open and stepping outside. He bows low to the girls, making them giggle. "Might be a bit of a tight squeeze, though. If you're all right with that."

"I see no problem," Rosalie says, beaming as she takes Kendall's hand, and he helps her inside. Valentina follows suit until the only one left is Giselle.

"Where do I go?" she whines. I can already see a pout forming on her lips—a warning that heralds the arrival of another hysterical meltdown.

There's no more room in the back with four kids squished in already, so, ever the nobleman, I open my door and pat my lap. "With me, of course."

Giselle squeals in delight and doesn't hesitate to slide into my seat. I just barely manage to hold back a grunt of pain as her full weight lowers onto me. She's not large by any means, but I have a delicate frame, all right?

"This is _so _against regulation," Evander mutters, glaring around at all the kids pressed into his father's car.

"Regulation, smegulation," I say flippantly, waving my hand (or trying to. Giselle's leaning back against it and I can't wriggle it out). Evander should know typical laws don't apply to us. With money so scarce in a district like ours, anyone can be paid to keep quiet and bend the rules. "Take us home."

Evander rolls his eyes but does as I say. With a muffled roar, the car motor starts, and Giselle jumps, letting out a high-pitched, "Oooh!" just as the girls in the back do the same. I'd forgotten, even with their high standing, it's unlikely they've ever ridden in a car before.

"Neat, isn't it?" I whisper in Giselle's ear. My tone is low and smooth—at least, I hope it is. I'm also trying to subtly spit out strands of Giselle's hair that have found their way into my mouth after she pressed the back of her head into mine.

"Incredible," she agrees, unrolling the window and sticking her hand out to feel the air rush past as we drive away. "Almost makes you appreciate all the factory workers in our district."

There's a moment of silence throughout the car, then everyone laughs. Hey, I'd never make jokes about the lower class _in front _of said inferiors, but that doesn't mean doing it behind their backs isn't fair game. Poor people insult us all the time, even _to _our faces—hello, rude.

Slowly, the buildings lining the streets begin to get nicer and nicer as Evander takes us into the better part of the district. I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding; thank goodness, we're back where we belong. 6's poor section (aka the entire district except our neighbourhood) is dank, dirty and depressing.

We pass the empty mansions of Victor's Village, looking as desolate as ever, before Evander takes us into the large cul-de-sac known to all as Manor Court. The elite of 6 all have homes here.

My house is nearest on the semicircular path Evander takes around the cul-de-sac, and before I know it, he's pulling to a stop in front of my two-story home. "Excellent," I say as Giselle steps out of the car. "See you all later then?" We'll all be in different sections for the reaping unfortunately—Evander with the eighteens, myself with the seventeens, and Sullivan and Kendall in the sixteens—but we usually have a bit of fun after the fact. Maybe we really will throw a party.

"My house after the ceremony," Kendall says. "Ladies welcome as well, of course. But get out of the car first, I want to ride shotgun."

Evander rolls his eyes. "We are _not _rearranging the seating when your house is literally two seconds away from here. I should make you all get out and walk now, I'm already late for picking up the escort . . ."

I grin as the two continue to bicker long after I've left the car. Giselle puts a hand to her mouth, stifling her giggles before I offer her my arm. "Fair lady," I say, giving her a warm smile.

"What a gentleman," she replies, weaving her arm through mine. "You know, I don't believe I've ever been to your house before."

"Really? How utterly appalling. You must come inside this instant."

I lead her up the path inlaid with decorative stones that run through our lawn, withdrawing my hand from hers as we reach the set of double doors leading inside. "Behold!" I say, swinging both doors open at once. "Cowles Manor!"

Giselle gasps in awe. It's funny, living here for so long I've gotten used to the regal foyer, the twisted staircase of marble and the floor of polished wood. Even by typical upper class standards, however, the decorations of beautifully patterned red carpets and handsome end-tables with intricately-painted vases resting atop are quite exquisite. My parents have refined tastes.

"There's a bathroom just down the hall," I say, patting Giselle on the shoulder. "Feel free to use whatever you need in there to help you get ready. I'm going to head up to change—I'll be back in a few minutes."

She nods, still in a bit of a daze, and wanders off through the foyer. I take to the stairs, hurrying up them and into the upper-floor hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Mine is on the far right.

I slip through the door, simultaneously shedding my mascara-riddled shirt and tossing it in a corner of my room. It's completely ruined, of that much I'm sure; I'll probably have to burn it. Oh well, I can always go pick up a new one some other time. Meanwhile, I've got plenty of other options.

I throw the doors to my closet open and spend a good amount of time pawing through the various shirts, not really taking to anything I see. Ugh, I hate how it's reaping protocol to wear your _best_ clothes—all of these are fabulous, and I look good in everything. Does the Capitol not understand the struggle they put us through?

Finally, I settle on a simple yet elegant blue button-down—matches my eyes. I'm already wearing the perfect pair of black pants, and to complete the look I grab a tie of a slightly darker blue, making sure to knot it casually around my neck rather than prim and proper like I usually do. On reaping day, surrounded by all those poor kids, it's always best not to look _too _fancy. Anything could set off their raging jealousies.

As a last minute addition, I grab a dapper black blazer from the back of my closet. Not to wear, mind—just to throw over my shoulder and spin around on one finger so I look even cooler. When it comes to making an impact with my appearance, I know all the tricks.

"Your house really is amazing, Ally-bear," I hear Giselle call up as I leave my room and head towards the stairs. Sounds like she's in the foyer again . . . hmm, that presents an opportunity. Obviously Giselle already knows I'm the most amazing person in the district, but why not give her another reason to remember it? Besides, I've always wanted to try this.

Instead of heading down the stairs like a normal person, I hop up onto the railing, arranging myself so I'm balanced in a sexy position. I'll slide down to Giselle this way—haha, could there be a smoother person than me? I think not!

I push off and start to glide down, unable to stop an enormous grin from spreading on my face. Sometimes my moves and overall amazingness surprise even myself. Not to mention the fact that sliding down a railing is _awesome_. Seventeen years here and I can't believe I actually listened all those times I was told not to play on the stairs. This is like my own personal slide!

The feelings of elation last until I get to the first curve in the stairs. The railing veers off, but I don't, and with a squeak, I slide off and faceplant right into a step. Momentum still has a hold on me though, and I'm powerless to stop myself from continuing to roll down the stairs, alternatingly whacking my head and my back against the hard stone steps. _Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow._

I come to a stop on the bottom landing, staring up at the ceiling and groaning. Each rise and fall of my chest sends spikes of pain shooting through my battered limbs. I've never felt so much agony in my _life_. Someone call a doctor—no, no, a morgue attendant. It's too late for me, I can already feel myself fading . . .

"Ally-bear? Are you all right?"

I leap up from the floor just as Giselle, makeup fixed and hair brushed, comes through a door down the hall. "Fine," I say, subtly trying to brush my hair over what I'm sure is a glaring bruise on my forehead. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought I heard . . . never mind." She looks back through the door, smiling. "Sorry for snooping, but you've got some beautiful things in here. That oil painting, is that of your parents?"

I know the one she's talking about—the enormous portrait hanging above our fireplace. There's a lot of similar pieces around our house; my parents _really _enjoy staring at themselves. Evidently my humble modesty was not inherited from either of them.

"Yep, that's them all right."

"They're not home today?"

"Nah. They've got work."

"On a holiday?"

"They're pretty dedicated." Or they might not be there at all. Maybe they're off on a mini-vacation to have some time away. Or maybe they're both engaging in their extra-marital affairs. I wouldn't know; honestly, I can't remember the last time I saw them.

"Oh. Well, then, shall we go?" Giselle asks.

I smile. "Of course. Let me just—"

_Ding dong._

Giselle frowns as the doorbell's echo rings through the foyer. "Expecting someone?"

"No." Oh dear, I hope it isn't one of my exes. They have a horrible habit of staking out my house, and with Giselle over, I _really _don't want to deal with them now.

So I'm surprised to open the door and instead find a boy about my age standing on the stoop. Ratty clothes, sullen look, dirt smeared across his face—all signs I should not be associating with this kid. "I'm sorry, we don't give handouts," I say, already shutting the door in his face.

"I'm not here for handouts," he grumbles. "My name's Frait Vassil. Your parents sent me. I'm your 'fall guy'."

Ohhh, _he's _the one paid to take my place this year if I get reaped. Good to know Mom and Dad didn't let that little business deal slide, at least. "Ah, excellent, we're just heading to the reaping now. Come with us, but stay at least five steps behind, please."

Frait grumbles something under his breath, but I don't hear it, too busy closing the door and prancing past him with Giselle, our arms entwined once again. "You're so lucky," she says as we head back down the path. "My parents said they couldn't find anyone to take my place this year. Oh, Ally-bear, what if I get reaped?!"

"Shhh, calm down," I whisper, partly for her benefit and partly for mine; she's grabbed my arm in fear and her nails are digging painfully into my skin. "You've got like, no slips compared to those kids taking out tesserae. I don't even need a fall guy, to be honest. My parents are just being overprotective." I'd like to believe it's because they're genuinely concerned for my safety, but honestly, they're probably just worried the Cowles name will be tarnished if I wind up in the arena and happen to freak out or something. Not that I would.

Not that I want to go into the Games either—from what I've seen on TV, they're disgusting. I shudder. "Let's change the subject."

It's a short walk to the square for us, during which time Giselle and I make meaningless conversation while Frait trails silently behind. Eventually we reach the sign-in tables, and I have to use every ounce of my willpower not to cry out when the Peacekeepers jab me with a needle. Honestly, there isn't a single person in the district who doesn't know my face; can't they use that to identify me rather than having to cause pain? Just the sight of the bead of blood welling on my finger makes me woozy.

"See you after the ceremony?" Giselle calls, already heading towards the sixteens' section.

"Of course! Meet at Kendall's, remember."

"Can't wait!"

Good to see her momentary fear of being reaped has been assuaged. Honestly, it's ridiculous for any of us in the upper class to worry about the Hunger Games. With the amount of kids taking out tesserae in 6, we'll never have a chance of being picked.

I make it to the seventeens with Frait trailing behind me just as Evander's father wheels himself onstage to make his speech. No offense to my friend or his family, but lecture on the Dark Days is dull—actually, this whole event is dull. The Capitol calls it a holiday, but it's really more of a stand-and-be-bored-surrounded-by-crying-kids-for-_ages_ day. All too soon I'm lost in daydreams about the party at Kendall's later tonight.

"That's me! I won! Take that everyone!"

_What_? I shake myself out of my daze, only to realise I missed the entire mayor's speech, the introduction of the escort, and the reaping of the female tribute. The sarcastic voice woke me from my stupor only because it's so close—must have been a seventeen-year-old who was picked.

Sure enough, a shorter girl with brown hair and eyes strides towards the stage, full-blown snark present on her face. No cries arise from the crowd like they usually do, no tear-stricken family members trying desperately to get to the girl. Good, I guess—those kind of things usually make the ceremony drag on.

"And now, the male tribute!" our escort shouts. She might as well have sent an electric shock through the square; every boy around me tenses up, crossing their fingers or murmuring prayers or simply burning holes with their gaze into the escort, as though the power of their eyes can stop her from picking them. I, however, let out an overdramatic yawn as the escort fishes about in the bowl for a slip of paper. Please, let this be over soon.

"Alistair Cowles!"

For a moment, everything stops. The sound of the crowd turns to white noise, the people around me disappearing into darkness as my vision pitches in shock. All I can hear is my own heartbeat. _M-m-me?_

Then, all at once, my senses return as I remember why the boy at my side is present. "Haha, sorry, friend," I say, a bit too loudly and with a slight, breathy edge. I pat Frait sympathetically on the shoulder. "Bad news for you."

Everyone is staring at me, but I force myself to ignore their gazes. After all, _I'm _not District 6's male tribute. "Come on, Frait," I say encouragingly. "This is the time when you volunteer. Make sure you shout nice and loud so everyone can hear."

The boy in question has his eyes shut tight, as though he's trying to blot out the world by refusing to see it. The pace of my reassuring pats quickens as my level of nervousness mounts, but hey, why am I scared? I'm not going into the arena. "Frait—"

"I can't do it."

I freeze. "W-what?"

"I can't. Oh man, I can't. I can't go off to die."

I'm all too aware of the stares focused on me now and of the Peacekeeper in the crowd making her way towards me. "Um, Frait." I laugh nervously. "You can't mean that. I mean, think of your family!" Does he have a family to think of? Man, I hope so. "Remember, my parents will provide for them for life if you take my place."

"I can't die and leave them alone!" he bursts out, smacking my hand away. He's glaring furiously at me now, but I can see tears welling up in his eyes before he turns away. "I can't do it, I-I-I . . . I _can't_"

"Frait—" The word sticks in my throat, and I barely manage to choke it out before someone grabs my arm. It's a Peacekeeper—a Peacekeeper dragging me towards the stage.

"N-n-no, you don't un-understand." My voice is barely more than a whisper; everything is deafened by the sound of my racing heart. "It-It's not me. I'm n-not supposed to b-b-be here. You've got the wrong k-kid, he's going to v-v-volunteer, F-Frait . . ."

The Peacekeeper pays my stuttered protests no heed as she shoves me up the stage to stand next to the girl who was reaped. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm still able to keep myself upright; my whole body is trembling, and my knees feel like they might give out at any moment. No, scratch that; I can't feel my knees. I c-can't feel anything. What's going on, what's going on . . .?

"Tributes, shake hands!"

The girl onstage turns towards me, outstretching her hand. For whatever reason, my eyes are working overtime, focusing on every rip and tear in her dress, every patch of dirt beneath her fingernails. I-Is that a smidge of _motor oil_ on her thumb? Oh no—no, no, I can't do this.

All at once, it hits me. I'm going to the Capitol. With a _poor kid_. And then I'll be put in an arena. With _other _poor kids. Who are all going to be trying to kill me.

It's too much; it's all too much. I don't even manage to extend my own hand to shake before my knees finally collapse, my vision goes black, and I sink into horrified unconsciousness.

**Vey Transport, 17 (written by . )**

**District 6 Female**

I sit on top of the train, feeling the wind lashing through my hair, which in turn beats upon my cheeks. It's cold, sure, but it's the best seat on the train. The air batters me so constantly and so swiftly that I can't even open my eyes, but that's what happens when you're on a train moving a couple hundred miles an hour. Probably skin should be peeling off my face, with all the force hitting me, but I know just the right way to sit or lay and just the right angle to hold my body to keep that from happening. Experience is an excellent teacher, after all.

I hear a couple loud thuds on the wall of the train down and to my right and sigh. Automated tech trains shouldn't need someone to make sure they're getting to the right place. We're not even at a crossroads yet, and there's only one track, which makes being a conductor the dumbest most boring job created in District 6. I really don't want to go back. I don't work with trains, really. I'm only going back to District 6 proper for the reaping. Then I'll be right back out in the labs and by the sea.

They like my special talents in District 4. Mechanics and developers don't usually specialize in watercrafts the way I do, and although the people in 4 may know how to fish, they don't know how to build a boat. They don't know how to repair them either. They don't know how to develop a water transportation device that can identify fish by type, size, and even weight and then move to or away from said fish based on the readings. Sure plenty of people in District 3 work on the tech specs, but transportation is my thing. Water transportation, anyways.

Oh how I hate trains. Give me a boat, great. A flat motored raft? Fantastic. Want a loch system to transport goods over waterways instead of by train? I'm your girl. Apparently I know my way around boats-rafts-kayaks-freighters-whatever-else-they-use better than anybody else. I feel kind of bad for my superiors, but they still have jobs. And it's not like they particularly enjoyed field testing and mechanics work out on the water either. But trains are not my thing. Boring.

And a little secret? There's such a thing as warships too. Submarines. U-Boats. Torpedoes through the water? I've tested those out too. Underwater mines, been there done that. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere on the same level of detail work as District 3, I work pretty close with them and I know they can do things I can't, but there are also things that I can do that they most definitely cannot. Whoever 'them' is. I can dive underwater to do an emergency repair and get the job done in five minutes flat, even though it probably should have taken half an hour. At least that's what I've been told. How would I know for sure?

I've been working with this stuff since I was thirteen. Since I was…thirteen…

The sound of the hand thudding against the metal side of the train comes again and I kick my leg at the side of the train, partially because I want to inform whoever is providing me with the sweet sound of annoying that they should probably provide me with the sweet sound of shut up. It's also partially to hook a foot onto the ladder on that side of the train to swing myself down, around, and into it through the little door.

"You're the 6 operative here right?" the peacekeeper says in greeting. That's right you piece of crap. I know you're from 1, and your job here is to keep me in line. Well guess what, sucker? I know so many ways to derail this train and kill every single person on it that it would make your mind cry tears of blood. At least that's what it would look like when they found your body.

"Yeah, and?" I hate trains. I can't believe I'm stuck running this hunk of metal back to 6, and it's basically for myself. I'm the only underage worker out there in 4. Before I was in 4, I worked in a couple other districts on their canals, lochs, and whatever floated on the water there. Anything involving water really. Since I was…thirteen… I fix my kindest stare on this peacekeeper. It's not very kind, because when it comes to looking at peacekeepers what classifies as my kindest is more of an "I could make you die the way you killed my parents, except you'd be worse off" stare.

"Well aren't you going to make sure everything is running smoothly?" the guy asks me. I glance over at the dashboard, control panel, and monitor screens. Looks fine to me. Like it did half an hour ago. Idiot.

"Done," I say.

"That's it?"

"Yeah," I tell him. The unspoken addition to this is "you idiot." I don't say it, but I know he hears it. However this one looks a little train shy, and I think he knows that I could get us all killed if I so desired, so he doesn't go for a beating. I'm the only conductor on this thing, don't want to get rid of that. Especially when the guy is so jumpy. Honestly, every half hour even when we're going to be heading straight for another day?

Everyone else on this train are passengers from the Capitol. They were visiting an old arena site on one of those cross country tours, but now that the real games are starting up soon, they want to be back in the Capitol where the action is. And of course I get to be kicked off in District 6 for the reaping. Even though I'm the freaking driver. Well mostly monitor, I don't really consider this driving. I also hate being in District 6. I hate being in the stupid town square for the reapings. It makes me want to puke.

That's where they killed my parents. In a nice neat line they stood there, and even when I tried to turn my face away, a kindly peacekeeper who only meant well held it in place to make sure I wouldn't miss it. Killed by a firing squad, officially. Unofficially beaten to near death and then killed by a firing squad. The beating part was just for fun, I think. I don't even know why my parents died. All I know is that their bloody mangled smiles were still etched on their faces when the lights went out of their eyes. They were smiling at me, probably trying to tell me I'd be alright. They might not be there anymore but I'd be okay.

Bullshit.

I was not okay, and those smiles don't do anything but haunt me every single day of my life. The best part was that they weren't killed by the Capitol, not officially. They were killed by peacekeepers from districts 1 and 2. Every single stupid peacekeeper in that firing squad. Every single stupid peacekeeper that participated in the just for fun beating. Districts 1 and 2. There is no mercy there. I've seen their tributes, and honestly even their kids look like heartless brats who think killing is fun and enjoy watching the pain and suffering of others. Like parents like children, right?

I'm slightly more tolerant of District 4 peacekeepers. Mostly because of…

"Vey," a male voice says from behind me. "I need to see you for a moment."

"Coming sir," I say and wordlessly as rudely as possible excuse myself from the presence of Peaceless number 1. I follow the other peacekeeper out of the doors and into the room that is mine-ish. I share it with two peacekeepers. Wouldn't want me alone as the only person who can operate this thing.

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier," he says.

"Oh shut up Sole," I tell him with an eye roll. "When you have to beat someone you have to beat someone." I whack him neatly on the shoulder, something I would never dare to do with another peacekeeper.

"You need to be more careful," he mutters. "I can't be the one to beat you every time you know."

"I know. But it's not like I haven't been whipped before, you weren't always a peacekeeper you know idiot," I say. There are quite a lot of whip scars on my back, which Sole knows. He's seen me whipped before, it's not exactly uncommon. I'm too snarky towards peacekeepers for my own good and I know it.

"You could hit harder, you're quite halfhearted," I tell him cheerfully, plunking myself down on my cot. "You don't pull punches in other circumstances." He knows what I'm talking about. I've had many a black eye from Sole while he was trying to teach me basic fighting skills. Trying is the key word there. I'm nowhere near as good as he is. Hence he's a peacekeeper and I am a transportation tech developer and mechanic specializing in watercrafts.

"Yeah well. That's different," he says. "That's for your own good."

"And correcting my behavior isn't for my own good?" I ask him. He conks me on the head. It's not hard or mean. Sole is my sort of friend, and the only one I've got. Somehow he's managed to end up on guard shifts over me for the past year. Since after the final reaping for him and he got a job as what he calls a "Peaceless."

"Now when it shouldn't be corrected," he says darkly. I sigh and lay back on my bed, then proceed to stare up at the ceiling.

"What's it like to be done with the reapings? I mean you know you're never going to have your name in ever again," I tell him.

"It's not like it was all that scary before either, we knew who was going to go every year, remember?" he reminds me. Well yeah duh. But still. "I probably should have been the one to go in at some point…but I wasn't into that so I kind of did poorly on purpose. My little sister Mags though. She's going to go in." I turn and give him a look of pure horror.

"Don't worry, don't worry, she's not going in until after you're out of the fishbowl," he tells me. Good, I'd hate to get called then go up against her. Lethal as Sole is, I'm sure his sister is equally as terrifying. Well, all the Careers are, let's face it.

"Tomorrow's the day," I say. "Tomorrow a new batch of twenty innocents are going to get sent to the coliseum."

"Twenty?" I don't see it but I know he's raising an eyebrow.

"I don't count District 1 and 2 tributes as innocents. And 4 is only half innocent," I say.

"Only half innocent?" now both eyebrows are raised, I can hear it in his voice.

"You're all half fish anyways," I say with a chuckle. He laughs, and that is how my night ends.

My day begins with me getting led off of the train by Peaceless 1 and Sole, and right into the square. I don't have reaping clothes, I just wear whatever I've got. I look around at everybody in their best, pick out a few faces I recognize from the children who are Wards of the State like me, and sigh. Everybody's basically at a funeral. We don't know who yet, but two people are living dead. What a party. Happy Hunger Games everybody.

Sole pushes me roughly towards the table where they're drawing blood, and I'm sent off to the line of 17-year-olds. They reap pretty early in the day here. There's quite a wait before we know everybody is accounted for, then our escort walks onto the stage. I tune out everything between then and the scraping of her fingernails against the glass bowl holding the girls' names.

Maybe I should volunteer. It's not like I've got anything good waiting for me anywhere. I run through the pros and cons of this option as the slip draws closer to her face. I continue to run the pros and cons as she's unfurling the slip of paper. I decide that it's not in my best interest to volunteer right as she reads the unlucky lady's name out.

"Vey Transport," she calls out in a singsong voice. It sounds like a dying bird trying to sing, honestly. I sigh.

"That's me! I won! Take that everyone!" I call out with excited sarcasm, my snarky side displaying itself in full force. I'm walking forward before the crowd even parts, it's not like I don't recognize part of my own name. Transport isn't really mine, it's the brand given to all children whose parents were killed as traitors. I don't know why mine were killed, and I don't think they were traitors. My real last name is a dirty word. So Transport takes its place.

It's deadly quiet, and I'm annoyed. I see the peacekeepers all lined up and it's like I can point out which ones are from Districts 1 and 2. I easily climb the stairs and stand on the platform. I think our escort is under the impression that I am excited for this. Does she really think I was serious? Idiot.

I watch her sideways out of the corners of my eyes as she digs around in the glass bowl for my fellow tribute. It's probably more difficult than it should be, because her fingernails are so grossly long. Not practical at all. I almost want to just do it for her to save time and get it over with. Finally she's got a slip of paper, having dragged it up the side of the bowl to get it out. Was that how she got mine out? I can't remember.

She clears her throat and then sings out, "Alistair Cowles!" She looks around, probably expecting someone else to shout out that they've just hit it big. Yeah right, I know this guy. He's a spoiled rich boy the same age as me, I remember him. Where's the one that's supposed to volunteer for him? His rich parents pay this one kid to volunteer for him every year just in case he's called. But it's silent. Money apparently isn't enough to put your life on the line, because the silence is deafening.

I find his face in the crowd, and feel sorry for him. The shock is etched into every line of his face. His bright blue eyes look like they're going to take over the rest of his features and all the laughter and self-assuredness that I remember being there has evaporated from them. His mouth is open a fraction, and he's white as death. I can hear him protesting weakly, and see the kid next to him looking supremely guilty but also, somehow, relieved. He stands there motionless for a long time, like he's still waiting for the kid to volunteer for him, then a Peacekeeper cuts through the other 17-year-old males and grabs him roughly.

She's a District 1 female, young but not as young as Sole, mean looking, and instantly my hands itch to slap hers off of him and dig our escort's abnormally long fingernails into her. The boy might not be my favorite person in the world by any means, but at least he was nice enough to not taunt my at every chance he got. At least not to my face. Others were, and they weren't even privileged spoiled playboys. There is absolutely no reason for this woman to treat him like that—his shock is completely understandable and she's acting like it's not. I glance at our escort's fingernails longingly, wondering how close the peacekeeper will come to me. Close enough for me to utilize those fingernails?

Apparently not, because right before he reaches the stairs, she pushes him to the stage. I wonder if she could sense the waves of murderous intent oozing from me and decided to let him do the rest himself.

"Tributes, shake hands?" the escort says sounding excited. I'm not sure why she's excited. Well maybe she's excited because she thinks I'm serious about this. But she can't possibly have any reason to be excited over the guy standing across from me. I watch his eyes flick over my appearance, my dress, even my hands as he reaches his own out. Is there some kind of problem? Then, even though I thought it had to be impossible, his face goes even whiter than it was, his eyes go unfocused, and there is a thud.

Alistair is on the ground. Passed out completely. The shock must have been greater than I thought, and I look down at him interestedly. Well-fed, well-watered, looks soft like he's never worked a day in his life. I wonder what he's good at? He must have been trained in something, everyone in District 6 is, to my knowledge. He wouldn't be working yet like me, he's got parents and is underage. But he's got to be good at something. I study him intently, trying to figure out what it is. Our escort pushes me forward a little, and I can feel just the tips of those long nails poking into my back. Her too? Am I really that appalling? I mean I know I'm not much, but all the same. She pushes me forward again.

How exactly am I supposed to shake hands with this guy? He's completely out. I squat down in front of him and grab his hand. It's relatively soft, and my suspicions are confirmed. He doesn't work with his hands, at least not in anything that would callous them. I shake it, and his arm flops limply. Well, I did my best.

I stare down the female peacekeeper who moves to pick him up and I grab him instead, looping one of his arms around my shoulders so he's half leaning on me and half being carried by me. I don't want some horrid woman touching another District 6 citizen, and I'll prevent that whenever I can help it. He's heavy, but not so heavy that I can't awkwardly drag him off of the platform and into the place specifically set up for the visiting process.

"Where?" I ask a peacekeeper bluntly, and he points wordlessly to an open door with a surprised look on his face. Take that. I locate a soft looking couch pushed under a window and lay the poor guy out on it. He's kind of a wimp, but whatever. Then I leave him alone and head towards the next open door.

Sitting in the room, I wonder if there's enough time for me to take a nap. There's peacekeepers at the door, so I'll be perfectly safe if I want to. It's not like I'll have any visitors, I have zero family, and the only friends I had amongst the home kids were the little ones who were too young to know what was wrong with my parents. I miss them, but they probably don't remember me at all. Just as I'm settling down, having decided that there probably will be time for a nap, the door opens.

"I would have volunteered for you. If I was a girl. And younger. And in District 6," Sole blurts out. "I'd have a better chance at-" he cuts himself off.

"Smooth Sole. Thanks for letting me know I'm going to go die," I tell him, sitting up and chuckling. I should probably be scared, but for some reason I'm not. Not now anyways. I don't think the reality of it is there yet, and it might not be there for a while. He sighs.

"That wasn't the intention. It was meant to sound nobler than that, seeing as you're my best friend and all," he tells me.

"Sure it was, Peaceless. Anyways you had your chance," I say. He doesn't look amused.

"You don't even have a mentor, it's just so stupid. They should lend you a mentor from another district or something," he says, sounding frustrated. I poke him, and he jumps. Weird, he never falls for that.

"I'll be fine. I've got some good skills, I've got the chance to kill some District 1 and 2 tributes to avenge my parents, and when I die I'll die happily. If it gets too bad and I'm being brutally killed, I'll kill myself to save them the time. I'll probably pick out someone I like and help them win. I don't know," I say, talking fast. It's setting in now. I don't really want to die, to be honest. I'd like to win, but I also don't want to kill innocents. I'll kill careers and anybody trying to kill me if I have to. But I don't want to win at the expense of someone else. I hate this.

"You should try to win. You should come home," he says.

"WHAT home Sole? Where is home? There ISN'T home for me anywhere!" I yell at him and then hit him square in the stomach. I realize what I've done and retract my hand quickly. He looks up at me.

"Well you've got a damn good punch on you when you're pissed. Just imagine they're me and you'll be fine," he spits, standing up now.

"I...I'm sorry…I didn't mean to hit you like that…I'm sorry…" my voice is shaking. Sole is basically the closest thing to a friend I've got, and I've just socked him in the stomach right before I go to die. What a fantastic way to say bye forever. I'm surprised when he pulls me in for a hug. He's never hugged me before.

"It's okay, I get it. You're freaked out and jumpy. Just breathe and think. You can win, I'm sure of it," he tells me.

"But I don't want to win. I don't want to kill people…I just want to do my job…" I inform him weakly.

"You can't die, we'll lose the best water tech specialist we've ever had," Sole says patting me on the head.

"Thanks for that. Good to know that's why you want me to live," I tell him waspishly.

"I want you to live because you're my favorite person, idiot. And if you want you can call me home so you have somewhere to come back to. As your personal zookeeper, I'm basically required to go where you go. Except the arena," he tells me. "So just rename me Home and there you go. Come home okay?"

"I'll see what I can do," I tell him. He leaves, not dragged out by peacekeepers because he is one. I wonder what the other ones were thinking while he was in here. It doesn't matter though. Sole/Home, my funny half-fish zookeeper friend, goodbye forever.

I guess now I'm free to take my nap.


	7. District 7 Reaping: Twins

**A/N (Glossy): **Ok, so unfortunately we had some people abandon the story. The following spots are now available: D2 Male, D5 Male, D11 Male.

**Eli Brooks, 16 (written by D7Victor)**

**District 7 Male**

I send the blade of my work ax into a fallen log and sit down next to it, wiping the sweat from my brow. The work day is almost done. Any minute now the whistle should be going off and I want to get home. It is the day before reaping so it may be the last night with my family.

Well, we are not much of a family anymore. I think about my mother all the time. She passed away during child birth because there is not much health care in the lower part of Seven. I cherish my sister though. Not once have I put her at fault for mother's deaths, unlike my twin brother.

Evan and I are complete opposites. He is able to stay in school and get an education. Once I was old enough, I started working around the mill houses. Evan would come home and try to teach me but I was always tired and he just gave up. We both put in time helping Pa with our sister, Emily, though.

"Why are you no working?" I look up to find a Peacekeeper looking down at me. His hand is hovering over the small weapon hostler. Ever since I beat up a handful of them up with nothing but a bucket and my fists, they keep a special eye on me. They don't scare me, and they never will. Only the weak hide behind protective gear and the oppressive government that supplies it all.

"There is only a minute left and I already finished my work. Why start a new project when it is the end of a shift?" I stand up and tower over him by a few inches.

"You are here to work. Now, work until work is done." He walks to my ace, pulls it out of the log, and throws it to the ground. I refuse to move. "Pick it up."

"No."

"I said, pick it up." The pistol is now out of the case and resting idly in his grip. He does not have the guts to pull the trigger.

Before any dust gets stirred, the shift whistle blows and I pick up the ax to return it to storage. Pa is waiting for me at the front of the mill house. "How was stream pushing?"

He grunts and shrugs. A man of little words and it shows with the typical silent walk home. And with the silence that fills our home that night.

Everyone knows I am likely to get reaped. In order to feed the family, I have taken over so much tessarae that I no longer remember how many times my name is in that bowl. There is only this year and next year left before I am in the clear. Evan has no tessarae at all and according to him and his math, his chance of getting pulled is a lot lower than mine.

When everyone goes to bed, I sit in our small gathering room and look around. The rundown home was in bad shape but it is where I grew up. On the front doorway is where mother marked our heights. The table was carved by Pa. Whittled figures sat on the shelves. Nothing has ever moved from its place. It is the only solidarity left in this house.

Reaping morning is just as silent as the night before. Evan and Pa wait outside while I finish putting Emily together. She hates the dress but likes the pigtails I loosely put in her hair. "There we go. You look very pretty!"

"Why do I have to get dressed up? I don't have to stand up there yet!" For an eight year old, she has a firm understanding of how Reapings work. I feel a twist in my gut.  
"It is still a big day. Now, let's get outside." I usher her out and we four walk to the Justice Building.

Reapings have always gone by in a giant blur. I stand in line and mostly ignore the entire thing. The sound of families getting ripped apart kills me. Mothers always cry out for their children. The escort always plays the fake sympathy card.  
Evan elbows me and I look up to see the girl already walking on stage. I recognize her. She is part of the other set of twins here in Seven.

Aurel Evelian.

She's tall and lean, definitely part of the lower end of the district. I have seen her push logs around at the factory. Other tributes will have fun fighting her.

"Evan Brooks."

My ears immediately start to burn. I look over at my brother. All color in his face has cleared. His eyes are wide with pure fear. He does not know how to handle any weapons.

But when he takes a step to walk away, I grab his shirt collar and pull him back. "I volunteer!" The words fall from my mouth.

The eyes of every district citizen weighs on me as the escort stares in shock. She recovers but every word said does not even enter my head. I stand on the stage, shake hands with Aurel, and turn to face the crowd in silence. My eyes immediately look to my brother, who stares back at me in horror. 

"Why did you do that?!" Evan yells at me the moment the door closes.

"Because you would die the first hour. I have a chance to make it. If we win, we can live a somewhat better life. This is for all of us." I rest my hands on his shoulder.

"Look, just take care of Pa and Emily for me, okay?"

He pulls me into a tight hug. "Please win."

Pa walks in after Evan left and Emily is in tow, crying. I bend down and squeeze her tightly. "It is okay. I will be fine. Just take care of Evan for me? Keep him in his place?"

She nods very slightly. "I love you, Eli." Her small arms hug me back.

"I love you too, Em." I let her go and then look to my father. "Take care of them."

"I will. Be safe and careful who you trust." His eyes are red from the tears.

"I will make you proud." We hug quickly before they get dragged out of the room by Peacekeepers. They escort me out next and lead me to the train, where the journey of my life and death begin.

**Aurel Evelian, 17 (written by Queen Vaara)**

**District 7 Female**

I tread soundlessly through the weed-covered space behind my house. The broken down fence bars my entrance to the house. Soundlessly, I conceal my axe in the dense undergrowth. Using the moonlight to guide me, I navigate around the fencing until I spy a gap large enough for me to slip through. There are a lot of them.

My coppery hair, which looks burgundy in the darkness, snags on a rusty nail jutting from the planks. Irritated, I jerk it off and step into the area.

My house is made of boards and planks that were meant to be sturdy, but after generations, it's really not. I'll have to avoid the creaking boards when I enter. But at least I have a house to live in.

I had unlatched the door when I came outside, so I push it open cautiously. It stays silent, because I foraged some oil over the months and greased up the hinges.

As I make my way to my threadbare room, I see a thin ray of light streaming out from Lyra's room. Of course. The reaping. She's probably studying tree types to pass the time instead of being terrified of the reaping.

Since my room's at the end of the hall, I am forced to sneak past Lyra's room. Fortunately, she's facing away from the door, huddled over a textbook. Her dark brown hair is wild with static.

As I carefully enter my room, I want to crumple onto the blankets. But like Lyra, I can't sleep either, even though I have more of a chance to survive if I'm ever reaped... And I'm not as interested in tree descriptions, so I just lay on my back and stare at the cracked ceiling.

When I wake from a shallow sleep, filtered light is streaming in from a little window in the top corner of my wall. I shake my head to clear it from its sleep mode, and sit up on the mattresses. Normally, a day like this would be a good sign, but it's completely ruined by a oncoming threat. The Reaping. The forest outside is deathly silent.

I'd rather just attend the Reaping in the clothes I slept in: A simple jacket and durable pants, with a black shirt underneath and combat boots. But trying to look your best for the Reaping seems kind of compulsory, so I undo my hair from its braid and start raking my fingers through it. I notice there's a lot of dust in it. I decide to wash it in the stream outside in the woods, after I dress.

I choose a navy blue knee-length dress I didn't even knew I owned, with worn short black leggings. It feels odd to be wearing decently nice clothes, even if I have to resist the urge to pull down the leggings so it reaches my ankles. I take out only hair band.

"Aurel?"

I whirl, assuming a defensive position. It's only Lyra. Her dark hair is in a braid that falls over her right shoulder. She's wearing a faded green dress and soft tan boots she reserves only for the Reaping.

"Nice," I compliment. She mutters a "thanks" in response, and we fall into an awkward silence.

"I saw you at night," Lyra suddenly says quietly.

"Yeah, so?" I say, trying to sound carefree and innocent. I hurriedly weave up a story inside my head. Couldn't sleep. Went out and sat on the broken-down porch to watch the stars through the breaks in the trees.

Lyra's head tilts to the side as she says, "What were you up to?"

Only Lyra'll ever plunge into the heart of the matter like that with me. Actually, she's the only one that I'll allow to do that.

I take in a silent breath, and lie, "I couldn't sleep either. I went onto the porch and watched the stars. You know how I don't like studying trees. Boring."

I'm afraid Lyra will see the lie, but she only turns away and smoothes down her dress. "See you later, Aurel."

I watch, feeling slightly guilty, as my twin exits my room. Then I get up and climb stealthily up the wall, unlatching the window and slithering through.

Outside, I hold on to the top edge of the window for a second before I drop, landing in a crouch, one hand out for balance, the other on the ground, fingers splayed. Not bothering to pause and check it anyone saw me, I jump agilely to my feet and begin a steady run into the forest.

I pass a pit of jagged rocks, and instinctively, my hand goes to the pale scar on my left wrist. A picture of myself, three years old, broken and sprawled helplessly on sharp, deadly stones makes me nearly fall over. I press my head into the cool-but-rough trunk of a tree as the memories take over.

I'm three, with my dark, coppery hair in two braids. Lyra joins me by the stream, her dark hair snagged with leaves. I clamber clumsily onto a small tree, giggling as Lyra tries in vain to pursue me. I cut my ankle on a twig, and I jerk away in shock, nearly falling off the branch. The laugher dies from my lips as I try to regain my former balance. Lyra notices this, and glances up in concern. I manage to grasp a branch with my little hand, and exhale in relief. Lyra claps her hands, yelling something unintelligible. Then, I'm crashing to the ground, cuts and bruises appearing all over my skin. Sudden, sharp, white-hot bursts of pain cut into me. I let out a scream as I am pierced by jagged rocks, over and over again. Weakened with pain, I curl into a vulnerable ball and retreat into the darkness that envelops me.

I push myself from the tree, clenching my teeth. Lesson learned today: best not to dwell on painful memories. I make myself break into a jog again, and soon I reach the stream.

The bubbling water brings up the memories again, but I shove them down and store them in a tiny box in the corner of my thoughts.

I can't resist skimming a hand over the water before dunking my head in.

Most district seven citizens can't swim, so I'm kind of an exception. I've gone to this stream often, and I taught myself how to swim. I'm obviously not too good at it, but I can manage to keep my head above the water, at least.

I braid my hair as I return to my house. It'll dry soon enough in the sun. I snag a few blackberries from a bush I pass. I check my look. My dress has a few leaves on it, which are easily shaken off, and wet hair is plastered to my cheek. I scrape the strands into my braid.

Instead of going back to my house, I head toward the Reaping. It's starting soon; people are crowding onto the streets. I grit my teeth when I see the stage in the distance, towering over the population.

"Aurel?" I feel a hand touch my shoulder gently. It's Lyra.

"Well, aren't you the stalker," I tease, trying to ease the nervous look from her face.

"Yes, I'm a stalker. You didn't know?" Lyra replies, playing along. Then her face acquires a serious demeanor. She passes a handful of berries to me as she says, "None of us are going to get reaped."

"You hope," I say back, fiercer than I'd intended. I make my voice quieter. "We have no hand in the reaping. You know that."

Lyra nods, looking slightly dazed, and then takes out a small coin with a string strung carefully through it. "Your token," she says. "If you're ever reaped." She loops it around my neck and ties a knot securely. When I examine the coin, it's not anything I've ever seen before. Silver-colored, with a head on one side and a torch with some plants on the other.

"It's from the United States," Lyra says quickly, and then backs into the crowds of people.

The United States. Equal, happy states that worked harmoniously. Unlike the unruly districts we have now, ruled by the cruel and unfair President Snow. I smile a little at my thoughts.

I tuck the coin into my dress and step into the line winding toward the reaping area. Almost instantly, a hand shoves me away.

"Move, girl," a boy shouts roughly. He's the one who pushed me. I guess that he's eighteen, judging from his height and build. "I was here first."

The passerby stay silent, not wanting to be involved, but the line lengthens. I make a risky decision.

"Were you?" I challenge, clenching my hands into fists. The boy's face distorts in anger and shock, and he snarls. Suddenly, my sensible thoughts barge into my mind. This is not how you keep a low profile, Aurel. You seriously need some improvement.

I compose myself carefully, calmly smiling at the boy and sidestepping into the crowds of people. His face changes into a mask of confusion.

I manage to slip in between two unsuspecting teens, so I don't have to go to the end of the line. They chat amiably about later plans.

Long after my hearing has become a droning, monotonous hum and my vision has become blurry from the sun, the Peacekeeper at the front of the line grabs my wrist. It takes all my willpower not to jerk away when he jabs my finger and jams it onto a piece of paper. I head blearily toward the seventeen year old girls section, the sun blinding me and making my head foggy. I curse at it, being used to the darkness of the forest. I give a little shake of my head to clear it as I take my place under the stage.

The number of people overwhelms me, as it does every year. I find myself fantasying of hiding in a cave.

Nervous muttering ebbs away when the mayor, Grover, steps up onto the podium and reads in a low, flat tone the history of Panem. It gets boring when you've heard it five times.

The only reason I pay attention to our escort this year, a bubbly and overenthusiastic woman named Tatiana is because she's the one who's going to draw the names from the bowl. So basically she's the one who decides my fate. She hops around for a while, speaking in an uncomfortably high-pitched voice with a strong Capitol accent.

I fiddle with my necklace, trying to ignore Tatiana as she sifts around in the girls' reaping bowl. When her hand comes up, clutching a delicate piece of paper, I inhale worriedly.

As Tatiana unfolds the slip of paper I hope that it's not me. Or Lyra.

And the name isn't Lyra Evelian. It's Aurel Evelian.

The first thing I'm aware of are people clustering towards me, urging me to move towards the stage. I manage to muster a glare, and they shy away.

Not far away, I see Lyra's hand start to go up, and a stab of panic swirls around my mind. She's going to volunteer.

I start to jostle through the crowd towards Lyra, and the people clear a path for me, knowing that I was reaped. I reach her in a matter of seconds. She's turned at me, her eyes wide in shock. I clamp a hand over her mouth.

"Don't volunteer," I hiss. "I have my reasons," I add carefully. "I'll tell you in the Justice Building."

Lyra jerks her head away. "The Peacekeepers-" she begins, but strong, white-gloved arms haul seize my arms and haul me towards the stage. It's kind of humiliating, so I break away and walk the rest of the way myself, looking irritated.

Tatiana offers a hand to me. I ignore it, making her look slightly displeased. After a brief frown, she pipes, "What's your name, dear?"

"Aurel Evelian," I mutter, trying not to make eye contact with the people.

Tatiana calls for applause, and gets the usual half-hearted claps. She manages to mostly keep her overly happy mood, though. When she struts toward the boys bowl, I clamp a hand on the hem of my sleeve, only watching because he is part of my competition. What I really want to do is lie down in the middle of the woods with my axe.

The boy tribute is a person named Eli Brooks. I zone out as he mounts the stage and takes my hand, absorbed in giving myself assuring thoughts. I can do this. I've trained for this. I can win the Games. It helps the dreading and worrying a little.

Peacekeepers flank Eli and I quickly, guiding us toward the Justice Building. I consider trying to escape, but the thought's so ridiculous that I roll my eyes at it. Escaping from six Peackeepers. Brilliant, Aurel, Brilliant, I think sarcastically.

I inhale, gathering all the skills I taught myself over the years as I step into the entrance of the Justice Building.


	8. District 8 Reaping: Mourning and Poor

**A/N (Glossy): **I'm getting a lot of Reapings soon, so send yours in if you haven't already.

**Jessamine Grey, 18 (written by HestiaAbnegation11)**

**District 8 Female**

I visit his grave sometime that day. The day he died. I stand beside his grave, the small angular thing in the District Eight graveyard.

Alec Ronaldo Rodriguez  
14 Years of Age  
5-19 Hunger Games years  
Sobs wrack my body, and I am convulsing, remembering the day, the day the 19th Annual Hunger Games were picked.

_Are you, are you_  
_Coming to the tree?_  
_They strung up a man_  
_They say who murdered three._  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met at midnight_  
_In the hanging tree._

_Are you, are you_  
_Coming to the tree?_  
_Where dead man called out_  
_For his love to flee._  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met at midnight_  
_In the hanging tree._

_Are you, are you_  
_Coming to the tree?_  
_Where I told you to run,_  
_So we'd both be free._  
_Strange things did happen here_  
_No stranger would it be_  
_If we met at midnight_  
_In the hanging tree._

**_X-FLASHBACK-X_****_  
_****_"Alec!" I shout laughing and running through the winding streets of District Eight._**

**_"Jessamine!" He screams in a high pitch scream, pretending to be like a girl._**

**_"Your voice is soooo high!" I say as he makes a funny face at me._**

**_"Happy Hunger Games." He says in a mock-serious voice._**

**_"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" I squeal as he tickles me._**

**_"We better get down there, or else they will come to our house, like last year!" He exclaims to me, last year we didn't get there on time, so we got a severe scolding._**

**_"You're probably right." I say as we finish our run, ending up at the Hunger Games desk._**

**_"Name." The Capitol lady says._**

**_"Jessamine Grey." I say at the same time Alec says "Alec Rodriguez."_**

**_"Thank you." The Capitol lady says as she draws our blood and we giggle, going past the Capitol lady and Alec puts his hands over his head and walks like he's a stick person. He's mocking the Capitol lady._**

**_I guffaw and he tries to cover it up with a little cough, and Bonus Boxwell shouts "Welcome! Happy Hunger Games! I will get right to the 'bonus!'" He says laughing at his own joke._**

**_I don't laugh, it's the Hunger Games. The sick thing that they make us compete in every year. "First the boys." He says smiling._**

**_"Darwin Jenkins." Bonus says and a small boy from the merchant part of town walks forward. There is quite a division in the parts of District Eight. There are the merchants, the seamstresses, the dyers, and the workers. I am in the seamstress class and Alec is in the dyer class. He makes a whole bunch of different dyes, it is almost mesmerizing!_**

**_Earlier that morning he gave me a white and grey sleeveless dress, and I stuffed it in my closet, I would only wear it on important occasions._**

**_"Now for the girls!" He says real excitedly, and I felt like a pin would drop and the whole town would stand up in revolution._**

**_District Eight hates The Capitol. Almost more than any other district, including old District 13, which we sometimes still see smoke rise from that direction. We sometimes participate in revolutions, Alec and I, but most of the time we steer clear of them._**

**_"Harriet Veranda." Bonus Boxwell says as a girl from the worker class walks up. She is kind of pretty, in a different way, black hair, ice blue eyes, and a plain brown dress._**

**_"Thank you, District Eight, home of seamstresses and dyers." Bonus Boxwell says grinning at us. Harriet does the okay sign, with the thumb and pointer finger bent together and the other three sticking up and raises it. Alec follows suit, and soon all of us have raised our okay sign._**

**_They push Harriet and Darwin away from us, away from the families, who will be pressed to their TV screens. District Eight might win. We won the 3rd, 13th, and most recently the 16th. Woof Olmo, won that one, by hiding and killing the last two tributes._**

**_Alec and I leave, and that day, he did something he never dared to do before. He leaned in and kissed me, and I smile to myself, and we murmur goodbyes, going back to our houses._**

**_I go out to our little berry farm, we never starve, at least not as much as some people. When we can, when we have enough, my mom and I give some to Alec's family. My mom squeezes the juice out of the strawberry and we put it in some juice. I sip out of my little cup and she says "A relief, that you and Alec didn't get chosen. I know someday I will be torn from you."_**

**_"Oh, mom!" I say and lean into her._**

**_That night, I go to bed in my tiny bed, which I can barely fit now. At 12:00 I hear screams and I wake up, and see fire blazing outside, and I see Alec outside the house. I know what happens before it does. A Peacekeeper flies out of nowhere and stabs him in the stomach. I scream, and I feel like my throat goes raw, and I don't talk, not for a year._****_  
_****_x-Flashback End-x_**

I lay flowers down onto Alec's grave, admiring his bravery, and the flowers are blue, his favorite color. I kneel, letting my blonde hair fall to the ground, and I look up at the gray, bleak sky. "Hey." Someone says behind me.

Hey Abigail." I say wiping tears from my eyes.

"Good to see you." She says, not smiling, knowing why I was here.

"You too, how's the family?" I ask, her family is the mayor, so she has enough money, but she likes to work.

"Good, mom's still a little shaken, after the letter." Abigail says like its common knowledge.

"What letter?" I ask, curious, which I can't help but be.

"Dad got it from the Capitol earlier this week, it said that if there was one more uprising in Eight, he'd be," Abigail chokes up, her finger sliding slowly across her throat.

"Oh! Abigail!" I sob, and go willingly into her arms.

She cries into my faded t-shirt, and I realize this is true friendship, the willingness to be there when someone is hurt, or sad. "Well, then they need to do a better job of quelling the unrest." I say mock shaking my head in disgust.

Abigail laughs and she stands up, brushing off her golden dress. "So, reaping day, right?" She says?

"Yeah, I have got to go back home and get my clothes, hope you have a happy Hunger Games, Abigail." I say, not saying it like the Capitol, for the grief of bringing up memories of Alec.

"You too!" She shouts, pedaling away on her bicycle.

I walk back home, and see my mom standing in the doorway. "How was your visit, Jessa?" She asks me?

"Good, mom. I ran into Abigail Greenbreeze while I was there." I say shrugging, going up to my room.

"Oh, how was she?" My mom asks.

"Good, as usual, but her dad may get the boot." I say thinking of a world without Mr. Greenbreeze, the kind mayor as our mayor.

"Oh. Well, I better let you get ready, it's a big day today, and we're going to have strawberry pancakes for breakfast." She says.

"Great!" I say.

I walk upstairs, and feel an urge, and walk to the closet. I pick up something I haven't ever worn before. The sleeveless grey dress. I slip out of my normal clothes and put it on, taking the remaining pins in my hair out.

"You look beautiful, my darling." My mom says, clutching her chest.

"Thank you mom." I say grinning at her.

"I haven't seen you wear that before. It's a beauty! Where did you get it?" She asks, curious.

"Alec made it for me, three years ago." I say, feeling dead inside my chest.

"Oh, honey. Let's get to the reapings, we don't want to be late. Again." She says laughing.

We go down to the Reapings, and I look at the people around me, and I let the Capitol lady prong my hand. I stand by Abigail and Bonus Boxwell comes up to the stage "Welcome, to the 'bonus' stage!" He shouts.

I wince at his vain attempt at humor "First up, is the boy from the bonus district!" He booms and the whole crowd winces and groans.

"Nolan Batiste." He says and a nerdy looking boy walks forward and my heart swells. He is at most 13 years old.

"Now, for the girls, is" He pulls a name out "Jessamine Grey!"

I walk up to the stage and say limply "Jessamine Grey," and shake his hand.

I only have two visitors at the Justice Building, which are my mom and Abigail!

"Have a wonderful time in the Capitol, darling, enjoy it while you can." She says and clearly you can tell she is being watched.

"I will mom, and I will try my best to get back. District Eight is wonderful." I say wistfully.

"Oh! I forgot, I got these from the bakery today, for you, just in case." She says handing me a box of cookies.

I smile and accept them, "Thanks mom."

A peacekeeper comes and tells her she has to leave. "Bye, honey!" She shouts.  
"Abigail!" I shout as she runs in, her brown hair bobbing against her back, against the red dress.

"I'm so, so sorry!" She sobs into my shoulder, and I squeeze her hand.

"It's okay, maybe I will win." I say.

"No one wins the games, Jessamine. No one." She says.

"Yes, they do, there is one victor every year!" I say, willing it to be true.

"Of course, but your spirit is destroyed in the Games. Hardens you into something you aren't. Just remember, remember, that, when you're in the Capitol, to remember yourself." She says and pulls out a ring and hands it to me.

"Alec gave it to me, but he wanted me to give it to you sometime, someday, if something happened to him."

"Thank you Abigail." I say as she exits.

The Hunger Games. The great challenge I face. The one thing we all fight. I realize, why District Eight has fought this all along. And realize, I must fight on the same side as my district.

**Nolan Batiste, 13 (written by DonnaNobleoftheTARDIS)**

**District 8 Male**

Purl's cries awake me well before sunup. She can't help it, she's just a toddler. Of course, Ariadne, my older sister, doesn't stir. I'm pretty sure she could sleep through a firebombing. None of my little brothers are awaken either. I guess that means I'm the lightest sleeper here.

"Shhh," I softly whisper as I climb over two of my brothers (the five of us share a group of mattresses on the floor of our tenement) to get up and reach her. She's tossing on her pallet, her jerky movements making the small trundle shake. I touch her cheek with my bony but warm fingers, and she already begins to settle.

"Nola," Purl mumbles in her three-year-old language. "Brother. I'm sick."

I shake my head, amused. "You always say that. Tummy ache?"

She nods. I decide to scoop her up in my arms. "Breakfast will be special today. You know why?"

She stares at me blankly, her cheeks red, and sighs.

"It's Reaping Day. We get to eat eggs! Make sure your tummy can have some eggs this morning. We only get them once a year, after all!" I told Purl. She smiled as I made a doofy face of over-excitement.

One a year. Reaping Day. My second Reaping.

In District 8, Reaping Day holds a bit of solemnity that I'm sure the richer Districts don't have. For us, Reaping Day is like waiting to go before a firing squad. I could feel it last year, even though I was all of twelve. At least I was braver than Ariadne was in her first Reaping…she vomited, even after someone else was called.

I guess that's why I don't understand why Mom and Aunt Latch insist on feeding us special food. I always saw Reaping Day as a day to be solemn, not celebrate. Especially because two of us are eligible to be picked for the annual death match. Especially because Ariadne and I have both taken out tesserae this year.

Ariadne and I are the only two of our family who qualify this year, though next year our next brother, Singer, will be eligible. His twelfth birthday is next week, so he squeaked by this year.

Purl worms her way out of my grip and makes a beeline for a small corner of the room, where her ragdoll sits by the window. She takes it up and begins rocking it, whispering "Reapy Day…Reapy Day…"

Our whole apartment consists of three rooms: a living room, a bathroom, and a small bedroom that my mother and her sister (my aunt Latch) share. Like most of District 8's working class, we live in a high-rise tenement building, overcrowded and under-heated. I always considered us lucky that we had the 'Penthouse' (or, the top floor…lucky level 13!). Though our family is lucky. One family two floors below us have nine children with the same space we have. Sometimes, to make myself laugh, I picture some of the Stetson kids sleeping in the cabinets or in the coat closet.

My father died last year (just before the Reaping, actually) in a factory fire, and that's when my spinster Aunt Latch came to live with us. She's okay as far as caretakers go, and you can tell she tries. But sometimes I really just wish for an older man to look up to. Being the 'man of the house' kind of stinks.

There will be no school or work today (well, no work for the kids in the Reaping, anyway). I just want the stupid ceremony to be done with so I can go to the Closet with my two best friends, Stitch and Tenny. The Closet is the part of District 8's Main Town where the school lies, and kids like to hang out there, climb around, paint on the old building walls, through rocks, whatever. It's called 'The Closet' because high walls surround the neighborhood on three sides.

After another hour, Ariadne awakens. She's sixteen, but has always looked older, as if she could pass for twenty at times. Right now, that's not the case. Her hair is mashed and tangled. Her eyes are wide and afraid as she sits up and looks over at me.

"Reaping Day," is all she says.

I nod. "Reaping Day," I answer.

* * *

The worst part about Reaping Day is dressing up.

I'm a thirteen-year-old boy, so of course, wearing a dress-up shirt, slacks, and a tie is miserable. Granted, it's not very hot here today, but the air is still thick and foggy, and it suffocates me as much as this damn tie around my neck.

Ariadne took a lot of her time with her hair, which is every bit as black as mine, but thick and curly. She wanted to wear it in a bun for the first time ever today. She used sewing needles in place of hair pins in order to keep her hair in check. After the fact, she merely tossed on her faded rose-petal dress like it's an apron.

It took me all of fifteen seconds to pull my straight, thin, dark, long locks into a ponytail.

By ten in the morning, everyone is up and ready to head to the square in front of the Justice Building for the Reaping Ceremony. I'm not feeling too anxious. Even with my name in there five times (I took out two tesserae this year), it's five slips of paper among thousands. I've always been a calm, logical person. Ariadne is too, so she is taking this whole day in stride as well.

After Ariadne and I sign in (my finger stings from that awful blood stick thing), we share a brief hug before going off towards our age groups for the Ceremony. Ariadne is with the older girls, and I go up front where the younger boys stand. I hate it there. So many of the boys forget themselves and weep, this being their first, second, or third years in the Reaping. I never cry. It's a waste of energy.

Bonus Boxwell, the Escort for Eight, is a pompous, frilly little fairy prince. What a joke he is, always so peppy and excited. He literally has the job of arresting and escorting two kids to their inevitable deaths, and he squeaks and squeals up on the 'Bonus' stage like a little girl on her birthday. Ariadne and I love making fun of him. When I imitate his bouncy gait, Purl giggles, which makes looking like an ass worth it.

"Welcome to the BONUS Stage!" He announces as he waltzes onto the platform rising above us. As with last year, his following speech about courage and sacrifice becomes an unintelligible mass of vowels and 'wah-wahs.' The day is cool and misty. Some of us are beginning to shake because of the cooler weather. Can't he just draw two names and be done with it so we don't have to stare at his powdered marshmallow face for another year?

Also, he refers to everything as the 'Bonus'-this or the 'Bonus'-place. He really needs take a good look in the mirror and stop falling in love with himself.

"First up…the boy from the BONUS District!" He squeaks excitedly as he dips his hand into a bowl.

Oh my God, please get laryngitis, I think sardonically.

The boys around me noticeably hold their breaths. I look around me and back up to the stage just in time for Bumbling Bonus Boxwell to take the Tribute's name up to the microphone.

"Nolan Batiste!"

Silence.  
Wait…who?

"Nolan Batiste!" Bonus chirps again. Boys in my cluster turn to look at me. Do they really think that I'M Nolan Batiste?

Hold on, aren't I Nolan Batiste?

"Come on up, my boy!" Bonus urges. I look to my right, where two Peacekeepers are heading for me. The other boys in my group are stepping aside, easing their access to me.

Quickly, without really thinking, I dart away from the oncoming PKs and mount the stage from the left side on my own, very slowly. I look around the crowd. Several of them are shaking their heads in shame, clearly upset because I'm a tiny boy with scraggly long hair from the working class side of town. I'm clearly already dead in their eyes. They pity me.

How embarrassing.

My mind finally lets my fate sink in as Batshit Bonus Boxwell draws my District partner's name. Unlike me, she's older, perhaps older than Ariadne. I couldn't quite grasp her name…Jessalynn? Jessica? She's pretty and blonde, unlike dark little me. Regardless, she is clearly on the verge of tears, even as she shakes my hand.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Bastard Bonus Boxwell chimes to the crowd before escorting us into the Justice Building. Before the doors shut behind us, I swear I hear Purl crying "Brother….brother…"

* * *

I get two minutes to say goodbye to my whole family. Not much time for individual goodbyes when you have five siblings, a mother, and an aunt swarming in, their tears already adding to the humidity in the room.

Mom and Aunt Latch are both blotchy and red-faced. Ariadne holds Purl, who doesn't look distressed. She probably doesn't understand what is happening. Instead, she looks a little bemused. My brothers Singer, Damask, and Bobbin stood side by side with looks of pity and fear on their faces, particularly Singer, who could very well be in my place this time next year.

Aunt Latch held a small parcel. She stepped forward first and handed it to me. I could smell it from here. Sausage bread from one of the vendors in the street. My favorite. Sausage was such a rare treat.

"Eat it on the train," she instructed, her voice unwavering. "I hear Capitol food is rich enough to make you vomit."

I nod and give her a brief hug. Aunt Latch and I were never particularly close, but we are still family, and I am still about to participate in a nation-wide death match against kids probably three times my size.

Singer, Damask, and Bobbin all step forward at once and silently hug me goodbye. They are little boys, I don't expect them to be comfortable with sharing their feelings. Singer does whisper in my ear: "Win, Nolan. You can fly."

Of course I can't literally fly. He refers to the fact that I always win races in school, and the teachers always call me 'Monkey Man' for the way I can swing and climb about swiftly.

"I will fly," I reply.

Ariadne comes forward and hands Purl to me. She kisses my cheek. "Brother come home soon?"

"Yes," I say.

Ariadne sighs as I hold Purl for a moment. "I still don't understand why she likes you best."

I wanted to reply with, "She'll forget me after I die anyway." I stop myself before I speak. That's probably not something my family should hear.

I don't want to hold my baby sister too long. Every second makes it harder to let her go. I kiss her forehead and quickly hand her off to Ariadne, my sister who lucked out again.

"Don't get dscouraged because you're small," she says. "If you're faster, they can't catch you. If you're small, they can't find you. It's not about who kills who. It's about who outlives who."

I nod, Ariadne sounds like she's trying to quote someone famous and not quite feeling what she is saying. She realizes that if someone CAN catch me, I'm toast. I know it.

Finally, Mom comes up to hug me. Mom is the strongest human I know. She pulled through our father's death with courage and a smile for us kids. She volunteers for third and fourth shifts so that none of us go hungry. Now, her first son might be a dead boy walking, and she is doing pretty well at holding back her tears.

If my mother was ever made to fight in the Hunger Games, I have no doubt she would win.

"Show 'em who you really are, Monkey Man," she says with a steady voice. I smile and hold her a little tighter.

Suddenly, the PK guarding my door comes in to end the goodbyes. He abruptly shoves Ariadne and Aunt Latch out the door. If I knew I wasn't at risk of getting gunned down where I stood, I would have jumped on his back and broken his stupid neck for laying a hand on my family.

After I am alone in the room again, I kick the door and scream.

~.~.~

The rain picks up as my District Partner (I guess her name is Jessamine) and I are escorted to the train. While I climb aboard, I turn around and say with a bold voice, "I'm coming home to you, District Eight. I am coming home."


	9. District 9 Reaping: Chosen For Death

**A/N (Glossy): **There might be spots opening up, so PM me if you want one.

**Micah Cinder, 15 (written by Emimawi)**

**District 9 Male**

The cold hits me like a punch in the gut, raising goosebumps on my tanned arms, nearly knocking me backwards as I pull open the window. Despite the assault to my nerves, I love it. It wakes up every cell in my body, makes me feel more awake- more alive. The sun has hardly risen, the amber ocean of grain gently swaying in the slight breeze still covered in shadows. Though it's early, and I should be in bed- like everyone else in the district- it's near impossible. The thought of returning to my bed, the duvet crumpled from restless tossing and turning is ridiculous, it'd be fruitless anyways. There's no way I'd be able to sleep on a day like this.  
Last night it took me hours, lying and staring at the wooden panelled ceiling, eyes wide and unblinking. Sleep would be a luxury, and as midnight rolled around, I was practically begging for it. But, if there was any sort of omnipotent being that could hear my prayers, they weren't complying. I must have dozed off at one point, from pure exhaustion (I could never stay up late anyways), though it didn't do much to quench the unsettlement that had plagued me for days...no, weeks on end. A cocktail of fear, resentment and foreboding bubbled in my gut, as if someone had taken a whisk and mixed my intestines together in a messy concoction. I don't know how, or why- I just knew it.  
This was the year.  
I hope, really hope it is some sort of messed up delusion on my part- that there really is nothing to worry about. My slips are four in thousands, the odds as much in my favour as they can be.  
I've never taken any tesserae in my life, thank god. My family was one of the more wealthy in the district, owning a factory that processed the grain harvested right outside my own doorstep. I don't think I'd gone a day hungry, not like the poor farmers who spent their days bent over, picking at food that wasn't even theirs, coming home nearly empty handed- with only slight money. I'd seen them before, the starving. We weren't like 12, at least most of our population had substantial income. But still, I could never forget the eyes of the children who had never, not one day in their life, had enough to eat.  
And the grain. The golden grain whom the Capitol called 'magnificent', or 'grand'. I loathed it.  
Maybe it was because, every single day of my life, I would be reminded. "You're nothing, just some kid in Nine. You don't mean anything. You're useless."  
It was bad enough that it was true. Because when my brother would inherit the factory, the money and house- I wouldn't be there. When he basked in the satisfaction of his job, I wouldn't be there.  
And then what? Would I become one of the harvesters, backs bent from hours in the fields- eyes empty and hard? Would anyone know me? Would anyone care?

I try not to hate him, my brother. I try to love him, and sometimes I almost do. But it is so, so hard to see him when all I can feel is this loathing bubbling in my stomach- this envy that's almost like a monster, consuming my every thought. It eats away at me too. I remember when I used to lie in bed for hours, like I did last night, just wondering what I did wrong. Why I wasn't smart like him, kind like him. Why when people looked at me and my tousled dark hair and freckles, and they thought trouble- but his sandy mop of hair and blue orbs brought him love and attention. Why my mother cried herself to sleep last night because it was his first reaping, whereas when it was mine four years ago- she did little than bat an eyelid.

Damn it, Micah. Don't do this now.

I bite my lower lip, trying not to cry out in frustration. The reapings, the stupid self pity, it's just some horrible melange of fear that I need to kick out of myself. This isn't like me at all. Where's the smirking, laughing teen? I need to get out of this room.

The sun has already risen higher in the sky, beating down on the empty streets and causing all shadows to dissolve and the heat to bathe me, a long shot from the coldness I had felt earlier. I'm already dressed in my reaping attire, having donned it and crept down the stairs and out the door. I needed to go, and I know exactly where I'm heading, dodging puddles and barrels full to the brim of bronze grain. The house is situated right on top of a hill, and my legs ache as I reach it. He lives in the center of town, and I give a wry smile to the old lady who lives in the house next to his. She returns in, her eyes sad and pitying. It's hard for people to look at us, the youths, on reaping day.  
I guess I would be pitying too, if it was me.  
The rules of the Games are simple, really. Two sacrifices, sorry, 'Tributes'- a male and female- are picked from some lottery to take place in a show called 'The Hunger Games'. Basically, we're the Capitol's pets for a week, we're fed, groomed, interviewed. And then they chuck us in some outdoor arena and force us to kill one another until there's one person left.

At first, there was outrage. For the past fifteen years, there's been a mass revolution in some of the Districts like 1, 2 and 4. For them, you see, winning is like this huge honour- though it's illegal, they train for it. And they nearly always win.  
The worst thing is, the Capitol loves it. It's like a huge middle finger to the Districts. "Hey, you rebelled- so we're gonna kill your kids every year and make it into the next best thing since that huge fashion revolution we had, where everyone got surgically implanted horns!" It works, I suppose. Pitting us against each other, there's no way a revolution would work again.

As I near the house, I can see him peering through the window, giving me this smirk. "You're so predictable….", I can even hear his comment in my head. This already lightens me up, as if some heavy weight that has been pinning me down has been lifted- though the release only temporary.  
There isn't any need to knock on the door, Connor flings it open the moment I've stepped foot on the creaky patio. He's giving me this smirk, his trademark one, and gives me an appreciative glance.  
"You look...snazzy," he remarks, referencing the clothes I had donned, a plain blue button up and black trousers. I'd made a failed attempt at combing my unruly hair, but somehow it had only made it look tousled.  
"Can say the same for you." I grin. "I'm sure the ladies will be scrambling for your hand after today."  
It's a joke, obviously. Connor's still in his pyjamas, probably have recently risen, with a jacket yanked over. His black hair, though uncombed, still manages to look better than my brown locks- which causes me to frown slightly.

He rolls his dark eyes, picking up an apple from the fruit bowl on the dining table as we enter his house. The clock hanging on the wall above ticks quietly, like a metronome, reading the time as 8AM. Two hours till the reaping. "Man, I'm over the girls. I'm all up and forwards with Cobalt."  
I splutter in laughter, nearly coughing. Cobalt is the female escort for District Nine, but she might as well be the one for Four, with her entire body in blue- including her skin and her entire eyes- pupils and all. Last year, I remember having a conversation with Connor about her, wondering what her real age was. It ranged between 40 to 83- the latter being most likely.  
"Oh, you two make such a cute couple." I pull a face, shuddering at the idea. "Invite me to the wedding, please."  
"Sure thing, Short Stuff." he says, tossing the half eaten apple in the bin. I roll my eyes. 'Short Stuff' is Connor's nickname for me, ever since we were 12, when he realized how small I was- compared to the other teens, even girls. I'm really quite self conscious about it, and he seems to get a kick out of annoying me with it, though I try not to take it personally.

"Get your butt up there and get changed," I say, nodding my head to the stairs that lead to his room. "If you want to impress your lady, you're gonna do it in style."

He raises his hands up in mock defeat. "Okay, you got it, sir. I'll go right away." he says, pulling a face as he scampers up the stairs.  
Rolling my eyes, I flop down on his wooden chair- making sure not to make too much noise. I can hear him now, murmuring something to his Mom. I think it's something like 'I'll be okay,'. I guess, in a way- Connor is a source of envy. He's not as well off as I am, but he has a caring mother- better looks, talent. All I'm good at is… I'm not sure- I'm charismatic… I guess? But really, how far will that get me? How far will it get me in the games?

It's all I can think about, that stupid competition. How is it that for the past three years, there's been an abundance of confidence, yet now I can't help but know that I'm going to be sent to my death? What changed?  
Damn, I hope I'm wrong.

The creak of the stairs brings me back to earth, eyes flickering up to Connor- whose tall figure has donned formal dress. It seems that the change has subdued him, bringing him back to reality- today is the reaping of the Hunger Games. Today, chances are more likely than not, both teenagers chosen this year will die.  
"I said bye to Mum, so we can head out now…" he says, his voice slightly more monotonous than usual, reflecting my theory. My stomach twists slightly, the way it does when someone I care about is down. It's unusual for Connor to be like this, but perhaps this year the reality has hit him too. He's a couple months older than me, and he had his 16th birthday a couple weeks ago, so he has one slip more than me in the bowl, like he usually does.  
"You know you'll be fine, yeah?" I voice, not willing to bring him down any further by telling him my concerns. "You've not taken any tesserae, the odds are one in a thousand." I'm not sure how much of my words are meant to convince myself too. If anything, he doesn't notice.  
"Yeah, you're right."

We head out the door, walking in comfortable silence for a short while. There's a park (or, that's what we call it. It's more of a small expanse of grass, the colour still green after hours in the sun) that we often visit, which is where we're heading. There are more people out than there were earlier, but Nine has always been a hardworking district- I guess. Maybe it's to do with the harshness of our Peacekeepers- the fact is that each rule is strictly enforced, sometimes with methods I would not like to get into. We catch the eyes of a couple students in our year, nodding our heads to them solemnly as we walk. It's a while before we talk again.  
"Either way, you'd probably do better than I would."  
I pause, stopping in my tracks. That's odd, and I look up- giving him a questioning glance.

Connor laughs. "You're so much better than me at people, and you know it." he pauses. "The Capitol would love you." Is that bitterness I hear in his voice?  
I'm slightly confused. I never thought of it that way, but perhaps he's right. That's something I could use, make them love me. It's a minute before I realize I've started to make a strategy. Head straight Mikey. You haven't even been reaped yet.

We wander around for a while, aimlessly. Eventually though, we've got to head for the square- it's inevitable, though I wish I could just lie in bed and pull my blankets over my head and block out the noise and fear. I nod my goodbye to Connor as he heads to the 16's section, and I drag my feet to the 15's, finding myself next to a guy from the poorer area. I shoot him a smile anyways, and he gives a weak grin back. Try to stay strong. I crane my head back, peering behind me at the 12s section. I can just see the top of my brother, South's blonde head. He looks so scared, I feel a pang. It's not his fault. All of a sudden, I feel a jolt. If I really am to be reaped, to die, I would have spent my whole life resenting him for something that's not his fault. I thought I was over the self pity, but maybe my anger has been projected on him. It's not the kid's fault, it's mine.

The tapping of high heels brings me back to myself, eyes flickering up to the voice of Cobalt- high pitched and nasally. I can't see her face, her creepy eyes or anything at all except the back of the older teen's heads. Perhaps I should be thankful, but it gives me a sense of inescapability, or confinement. I tune out for a minute, wondering what's going on in other districts. How many people will be standing in the same situation as I am? Today 23 people will be condemned to some awful death.  
I bloody hate it.

I come back to earth just as Cobalt announces that she's picking the female. I clench my hand tightly into a fist, praying it's not someone I know.

"Luke Culvious!" she squeaks, and I let out a sigh of relief, immediately regretting it. Whoever she is, she's older than me- and I can't really see her. Craning my neck, i can just see a girl with long-ish black hair. I recognize the name. There are number of rumors following Luke Culvious, though I've never actually seen her before. Something about murder? Or was a fire? Either way, she emits an odd aura, and I feel uneasy. There's some murmurs, and someone shouts "Go to hell, Blade!"  
I frown. What's with the stigma?

"And, the males!" she announces, her heels making a clicking sound as she prances to the other side of the stage. I bite my lip, hard. I can taste some blood, so I stop immediately. Please, not me, not Connor, not South.  
"Micah Cinder."

If the cold this morning was a punch, this is like being shot. The shock almost sends me reeling, and I can feel everyone's eyes on me. A sharp gasp penetrates the silence… Connor. For a slight second, I contemplate running. But no, that would make me seem weak- cowardly. From here on out, I'm playing this game.  
Putting on my best winning smile, I try to keep my head high as I march to the front- like I've won some sort of contest- which I guess I kind of have. They'll love that.

The next few minutes are like torture, standing next to Luke- who is older than me, I was right- for the anthem, the list of victors. Cobalt asks us to shake hands, and before Luke acts, I can see the glint in her eyes. She's going to do something stupid. She's just about to grab Cobalt's neck, obviously in disgust and anger. Immediately, I grab her hand- shaking it firmly. I try to give her a look, telling her to save it for later, but now she's staring daggers at me. Let her hate me. I'll be dead before she can get to me, anyways.

Then, I'm being dragged by my arm into the building behind me, the one that smells of dust and perfume. The room I'm in is lavishly decorated, but I don't care. There's an hour, one hour to say goodbye. Don't you dare cry.

The door flings open to Connor, being pulled in by a Peacekeeper. His eyes are slightly red, he must be crying. My chest feels heavy, I'm never going to see my best friend ever again. That's enough to make me feel like tearing up.  
"It's my fault, I should have never joked about you going into the games…" he murmurs, hugging me.  
"No, it's not." I try to sound assertive, but my voice breaks. "I'm really going to miss you, Con…" my voice is quieter now, emptier.

"Yeah." Neither of us voices the inevitable. I'm going to die, and I don't stand a chance. "You were smart though, smiling like that. Maybe you'll get sponsors."  
That's wishful thinking, and he knows it. The sponsors flock to the ones that have trained, the oldest- the prettiest. I can maybe bag a few, but nowhere enough to win.  
I try to smile. "Maybe I will."  
We sit in silence for a bit, until the Peacekeeper comes back. "Micah, try to win. Please." he says, and for the first time I realize that his eyes are full of tears.

And so I say, "Ok.". "Ok, I will. And, thanks for being my friend."  
"You're welcome."

"I'll see you soon."  
For a moment, I almost expect South to walk in- but the room stays silent. Maybe Mum hasn't let him. They're hardly talked to me in a year, not like I've made an effort- but a small part of me still hopes they'll be here.

They don't come.

And once again, I'm left alone.

**Luke Culvious, 17 (written by Ripple237)**

**District 9 Female**

_lade Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade no no stop YOU'RE NAME IS LUKE. NO YES you fag, blood whisper whirl death sling blood splatter headstone scream death outcast whisper. _

_Licks. _

_Sun. _

_Morning. _

_Blade. _

_LUKE._

"NO, my name is Daisy." I awake from the endless night. Dandy is licking my face.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, Dandy." The German Sheppard just curls around me, like a shield.

_LUKE._

_LUKE._

_LUKE..._

The voice in my head dies.

"Thank you Dandy." I whisper to her.

Whispers.

Whispers.

"No, I have to continue." I stand up and approach the paper. I begin to write.

_Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade Blade no no stop YOU'RE NAME IS LUKE. NO YES you fag, blood whisper whirl death sling blood splatter headstone scream death outcast whisper. _

I gasp at my writing.

"Dandy, help me." She comes over and licks my hand. I begin to write again.

_My name is Daisy. Dandy is my only friend. I live in a shack. I like axes. Blood. Blade. Blood. Blood. Pools of blood. _

Dandy rests her head on my leg.

_I am alone. My father made me a man. I killed him. _

My fingers itch. I put down the pencil. People have whispered about me, called me "The Blade." Why? Because they think I killed by father. I did. I killed my father. I was not found guilty. I chopped his head off, but not before I cut off all his limbs. Then I cut myself. I tried to get the hair he would stitch to me off. I only cut skin.

I reach for my axe. Dandy picks it up and carry it out of my reach.

"Good girl." I say.

Ok, I'm in control now. I look at the mess of the paper on the floor. Every morning I write to get the thoughts out of my head and stay clear. Dandy helps. She was being beaten by boys when I found her. The boys ran way.

_Boys. _

_Father wanted me to be a boy. _

_I hate boys._

I begin to laugh hysterically.

"LETS FIND SOME BOYS AND MUTILATE THEM. YES, THAT WILL BE LOTS OF FUN."

_No, go away my name is Daisy. _

_Or is it Luke. _

_No. _

_It is. And you are a boy. With that nasty stitched on facial hair. _

_No. _

The grey room appears before me. It always does. I start to cry.

"Please just go away!" I scream.

My father's body materializes in front of me. His limbs burst off, and his head turns all the way around to face me. His eyes are white.

"Join me, Daisy. Your flower will die!"

"No please!"

"I am Luke."

"No! You are dead!" I scream.

He lunges towards me and bites my throat.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

I wake up on the floor of the shack. Dandy is whimpering in the corner.

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry! It got control again."

My father, and the name he gave me, Luke, have merged together to form my demon. He always wanted a boy. And he would have one. He made me pie while standing up. He made me dress in rooms with other boys. He stitched hair onto me. Cut my hair. Unspeakable things. When he was drunk he would rape me, and then shove me into walls and throw me in the well outside. The peacekeepers would get me, but not before the people threw things at me. When I got out, the Peacekeepers would beat and rape me. Then my dad would beat me for having sex with a man, because I was "a man."

I curl up. It is the Reaping after all. Another time for people to laugh at me, whisper about me, see my rags. I just tolerate it. It's the best I can do. I flip out once I reach my shack. Of course, Dandy hides, that smart dog. I'm always afraid I will kill her by accident, or the citizens will. I have a few more years of going to the Reaping. But what's next. What will my life become? I go over to Dandy, and cuddle with her. She is all I have left.

If my mother was still here, things would be different. I think. She died as I was born. That only added to the monster that my father became. I heard people say he was nice once. Still, they don't like the way he was killed. And I did it. I feel so broken. I want to normal, but I lost it, and now a demon with my father's face and my birth name haunt me. I've wanted to kill myself, but Dandy always stops me. I was desperate for something, anything. I was insane, and I guess I still am.

The day I brought Dandy home, and I was about to stab myself, Dandy brought me a Daisy. Since then, I've called myself that. Unfortunately for me, no one else calls me that. Everyone at school, whispers behind my back. Even the little kids, who just don't understand, but just copy everyone else.

One day, I was walking home and 5 boys attacked my. They bashed stones at me. I had my axe up my sleeve though. I watched them cry, and I laughed. After I had calmed down, I was disgusted with myself. I attempted suicide again. Dandy stopped me again. Sometimes I wonder if she is an angel, sent to protect me from the demon inside me. Whatever it is, this demon is breaking me.

I've always been skilled with axes. One day I tried to use them, and I was a natural. Was this talent my demon egging me on? I don't know anymore. But, if I get sent into the Games, I'm scared for the tributes, because Luke will take over. I know it. I can't go into the Games. If I do, the fragments left inside me will shatter.

The Reaping approaches. I can't go. I just can't. I won't be chosen. It's impossible. A horrible thought strikes me. What if Luke makes me volunteer? It could be the end of everything. And Dandy will die. The people will kill her. I'm sure.

"Dandy, come here." I say. She comes over wagging her tail.

"Sweetie, I love you so much. You're the only thing keeping me going. I promise I'll be home soon."

I hug her, and she puts her head on my shoulder.

"I love sweetie." The tears come.

"I'll see you soon, my angel." She looks after me as I exit the shack. I can't look back.

The walk to the square always seems like the hardest. The feeling that you get is awful. You know you have to go, and you want to get it over with, but you have to walk. You have to walk all the way to the Town Square. I wish Dandy could walk with me, but they will only take her away from me.

People walk on either side of the street. I walk in the middle, so naturally, they avoid me. I can already hear their whispers.

_Whispers. _

I shake my head to clear it. The whispers are growing louder.

"She's shaking her head again."

"What a freak."

"We should just kill her."

"Or we can hope she is Reaped."

These people are terrible. Don't they know they are just making it worse? Of course not. I can already feel….

I hunch my back, and let out a cry. The people start to whisper again. Some take off down the street.

_Oh, they are not going anywhere. I'm going to cut their arms off, then their legs, and slowly cut and carve their bodies into something worth looking at. _

"NO!" I yell.

"BLADE! JUST GO BACK TO YOUR HOLE AND DIE!" a boy shouts. My fingers twitch.

"No." I whimper.

_Yes. _

I run like a bullet over to the boy.

_LETS'S MAKE THIS ASSHOLE SUFFER!_

Just as I tackle him, a Peacekeeper grabs me.

"This is Reaping Day! That will be 10 lashes." He says. A grin lights his face.

"I'll make it 25. It won't hurt. Much."

_HE DIES NOW! _

I regain control at a very fortunate time.

"Yes sir, sorry sir."

"Quite you're yapping and go!" he shouts

I rush over to identification and get into the 16 year-old's section. The Reaping is about to begin.

The escort walks onstage, and I am disgusted again. She calls herself Cobalt, and has an insane obsession with blue. I look away in disgust. I block her, and everything else out, until I hear her utter those words. I snap to attention. She has just reached into the girl's reaping bowl. My dad tried to get my name in the boys, but they didn't allow him. He was furious, and raged for months.

Cobalt pulls out a name and reads it into the microphone. It won't be me. I'll see Dandy again soon.

"Luke Culvious? Isn't Luke a boy's name?" She says, looking flustered. Dammit. I start to walk up. My poor Dandy. I have to get home to her.

_Sure, sure, but first we get to kill 23 kids! Oh I'm so excited. _

No, not now, please not now. I begin to shake and twitch, hunching over. The crowd is whispering again. I shake harder.

"Go to hell, Blade." Someone from the crowd shouts.

I reach the stairs and stand there. Trying to keep it inside. The boy, Micah Cinder, stands next to me in no time. Everything is a buzz. I see Micah reaching for my hand. It must be time to shake.

_Ok, we'll shake, but let's kill this bitch first! _

I reach for Cobalt's throat. Just as she starts to panic, Micah grabs my hand, and shakes it. I am grateful for his help, but I'm afraid to say anything. I might say something I would regret. Goodbye Dandy. I promise I will get home.

_Oh not yet, we have some very nice slaughtering to do first. _


	10. District 10 Reaping: They Will Get It

**A/N (Glossy): **Keep getting your Reapings in.

**Collin Terrence, 17 (written by Mykindleisawesome)**

**District 10 Male**

"Hey Adam, watch this!" I yell, trying to stand on the horse. He's busy flirting with some girls, who are leaning over the fence watching us. They all turn their attention over to me, and I flash them a smile. "Here goes..." I mutter.

I stand up in the stirrups, and brace myself. Balance is key... My legs tense and I do a backflip off the horse, doing a couple somersaults backwards to get out of the way in case my horse tries to kick me.

They all clap, and I notice my best friend, Ethan, is in the group. I hadn't noticed him before, so he must've just gotten there. "Hey Ethan!" I yell across the field. "You on Rider, I'm on Lightning! Three laps." I smile at him as I vault up onto Lightning.

Ethan smirks and runs toward the stables, where Rider is. His short blonde hair gleams in the sun, and his feet pound on the ground, kicking up dust.

I wipe a sheen of sweat off my brow. Summer again, time for the reapings. My friends I usually just mess around earlier, before the reapings, and get there a few minutes before our escort, Horatio, mounts the stage.

We all go over to my farm, showing off and racing. It's all fun in games, really. One of the girls by the fence, Riley, flounces over to me.

She gives me a dazzling smile, and I know she's trying to flirt with me. "Good luck, Collin. I'll be rooting for you."

"Thanks, Riley. But I suggest you get back over to the fence. Don't want to get your pretty skirt dusty before the reapings." It is a pretty skirt. A beautiful blue, complimenting her eyes and skin tone. Like a lot of the girls here, she looks great. I feel inclined to tell a lot of them that.

My brow furrows as I begin to ride Lightning, he slowly trots around the fence. Hmm, maybe that's why they all like me. I compliment them, and they think I'm flirting with them. But I quickly shrug it off. Whatever. I won't be changing myself just so hordes of teenage girls don't run after me.

Ethan gallops on Rider, and they race over to me. These are only two of my father's many horses. He owns one of the biggest- and richest- farms in District 10.

He hands me a flag. One of the bad things about our farm? There's nowhere to put a flag for racing.

Then I come up with a great idea. I turn Lightning around to face the girls. "Hey Riley!" I call. Her blonde head perks up. "Mind getting that skirt a bit dusty?" I wave the flag in the air, and she nods, a slow smile spreading across her face.

* * *

On the last lap, Ethan begins to pull ahead again, he's been doing that the entire time. On and off, he's been pulling ahead and then falling behind. I've been keeping Lightning at the same pace, saving energy.

About halfway through the lap, I begin to ease Lightning into a faster gallop. He speeds up, catching up with Rider. Ethan glares at me jokingly as inroads the finish line ahead of him.

"Yeah!" I cheer as everyone claps. But my fun is soon spoiled as my brat of a sister, Ebony, walks outside.

"Boys!" She yells, her white-blonde hair whipping in the wind. "Get inside now! You have to look presentable for the reapings!"

I sigh, jumping off Lightning. Everyone begins to scatter, and I turn Lightning over to Ethan. "And now, the winner wishes for his horses to be groomed and put up."

He laughs and takes the reins. "Of course, 'Master Collin.'" He chuckles mockingly, jogging the horses over to the stables. Heh... I love that guy.

I spring inside, running right past Ebony. I can barely squeeze past her, her small frame is blocking the door. So, of course, I feel inclined to ruffle her hair.

She shrieks, and smacks my arm. "COLLIN! Don't mess up my hair, it took me forever! Now hurry up, the reapings are in an hour!"

As I climb the stairs, I mimic her voice. "'Oh Collin, don't mess up my oh-so-beautiful hair! It took me absolutely forever!'" I groan. "Idiot."

She is such a brat, it annoys me. She could be shipped off to one of the Career districts for all I care, it would suit her. So fancy, ugh. Drives me crazy. She's a year or two older than me, and acts like my mom. It drives Adam and I crazy, we hate it.

Riley likes her, but she's sixteen. I think she likes me, but I don't really feel the same way about her. Ethan says she complains about some guy ignoring her a lot.

I jump in the shower, quickly washing my hair and body. Not much time, Ebony will have my head if I make her late. I throw on a pair of new jeans, sneakers, and a clean blue polo. I brush my dark brown hair, and vault over the banister, landing directly in front of Ebony, who promptly shrieks and begins to yell at me.

But of course, I ignore her. I ate earlier, so I jog out to meet Ethan, who is finishing putting my horses up. "Ready for the reapings, dude?"

"Heck yeah. No chance I'll be chosen." Ethan brags for a moment how neither of us have taken a single tesserae. "Same with you. And besides, people love you so much they'll volunteer for you." He winks at me.

I chuckle. "Whatever. You just want to go see your girlfriend, Olivia, don't you?" I swear that kid was obsessed with her. It was written all over his face.

"Of course, Collin. Can we go now? Can we go now? Can-"

"Ethan, we're already walking that way." Sure enough, we were walking the worn dusty paths. Everyone used them, whether it was for just taking a stroll or racing horses.

He chuckles, bashful. "Heh... Heh... whoops!"

* * *

We arrive at the reapings with about fifteen minutes to spare, and head over to the check-in table. There are two ladies there, one with bug eyes and a loud annoying voice, the other with a soft, quiet voice. I share a look with Ethan, and we go over to the quiet one.

"Name?" She whispers shyly, looking up at us from her list. She has a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"Collin Terrence." I smile, hoping to make her feel better. She gives me a shy smile back.

Her manicured hands flip through the book, mine's near the end of the alphabet. "Six times, right?" I nod, and she puts a check by my name. "Go ahead."

I leave Ethan somewhat reluctantly, he'll catch up with me eventually. He'll probably drag me around trying to find Olivia. I see a bunch of friends in my way to the 17-year-old section, but no Ethan yet. It's when I run into Olivia that I think there's a problem.

She's crying, tears running down her face and ruining the little makeup she found to put on. Her eyes are red and puffy, her dark brown orbs filled with tears. She sees me through her tears, and collapses on my chest. "Oh, Collin! It's terrible! Ethan's brother finally caught the bug that's been going around, and with his sickness, he can't hold on much longer! He's been excused from the reapings, and Ethan is, too. I need to find him, but I-I don't want to tell him!"

I calmly usher her through the crowd. There's some strange bug going around, and it makes your neck swell up, and it gets hard to breathe. I had it a few months ago, and was excused from school for a month.

I felt terrible the entire time, and now Ethan's little brother has it? He won't last too much longer, he's sick enough as it is. No one really knows what's wrong with him.

I see him in the crowd, and drag Olivia over to him. He runs as soon as the words finish spilling from her mouth, his face pale. I don't think I've ever seen him so scared. I turn to Olivia, who is still shaking. "Now all we can do is hope. Come on." I escort her back to her section, giving her a quick, friendly hug when she's there.

"Thanks." She sniffles, climbing over the rope. I jog over to my section just as our escort hits the stage.

His name... uh... his name is... it's not very memorable.

His light green skin looks sickly in the afternoon sun, and his black hair is short and cropped down. He steps up to the podium, very smart and official. "Good afternoon, District 10!"

A few people clap, but not enough to satisfy him. He deflated slightly. "As you may remember, I'm Horatio—" I sigh. That's a stupid name. "—and I will be aiding the two tributes from your district. I am so grateful to be here today, and I'm so excited for a new and thrilling Games. Now, I'd like all of you to give your undivided attention to your very own Mayor Hurley, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

We clap reluctantly for our mayor, who's slow, droning voice won't shut up. It goes on for forever, and I feel like I'm about to kill myself.

When he does shut up, Horatio goes onstage. "Now, let's pick our lucky lady!" He says excitedly, and he goes over to the female's bowl. He pick out the 'perfect name' and walks over to his microphone, where he unfolds the slip of paper.

"Lauren Cropp!" He cries, and I hear absolutely nothing. No one moves. Where is she? I wonder. "Would Lauren Cropp come up to the stage?"

That must've set off the alarm bells in her head, because a girl begins walking up to the stage. But she must be heard something, a giggle, perhaps, because she immediately whirled around. Her light brown hair is in a ponytail, and it whips through the air as she glares at someone. ... Riley?

"You bitch!" She screams, "You think that's funny?!"

"I-i-it wasn't m-me!" she stutters.

"Nobody has a laugh that annoying! Except maybe you!" She shrieks, punching her.

Two Peacekeepers gain on her, but she seems to want the last word.

"I hate you! I hate you all!" She shouts as she's dragged to the stage by the peacekeepers, a grip on each arm.

"Man..." I whistle, and some of the other guys nod.

For once, Horatio seems stunned. "Let's find out who the male tribute is!" He walks over to the male bowl. Horatio picks out a name, and walks over to his microphone.

"Collin Terrence!" He calls, and I pale. But I quickly shake it off, and walk up to the stage. I get multiple pats on the back and murmurs about how sorry they are. But no one will volunteer. They never do.

I saunter onstage, and stand next to Lauren. "Your District Ten tributes!" Horatio yells, and I hold out my hand. Lauren takes it, and I smile at her. She immediately retracts her hand, and wrinkles her nose.

I get to the doors before her, and open them for her. "M'Lady..." I whisper. It reminds me of Ethan. She growls and stalks past me, punching me in the arm on her way through. I rub it gently, she's strong!

* * *

The first person to arrive is Ebony, who sobs delicately. "Oh my goodness, I can't believe this is happening to you!"

Which annoys me. So. Much.

Then it's mom and dad, who somehow found time to visit me. Mom cries, and dad tells me how much he'll miss me, but I can make it back.

That annoys me, too.

Then it's Adam, and we joke around. I enjoy that, and feel lighter. More free, like I'm not about to go into the Hunger Games.

Riley comes in next, and she pretty much sobs while I pat her on the back. She repeatedly tells me what an idiot my district partner is, and all I can do is nod and smile. Lashing out will only hurt me later on.

Three more girls come through, and I can't come up with their names. How do they know me?! Well, I'm not surprised that they know me, but I don't know how they got in here.

They're annoying me too.

And then Olivia comes in. She must've come for Ethan. I feel the tears slip down my face. She hugs me, sobbing once again.

"Ethan can't make it. B-by the time he f-found out, it was too late. I don't have much time, anyway. But h-he did want me to give you this." She hands it to me, and her pale hand is shaking. It's a small horse figure, and it looks like my horse, Lightning. Black all over with one streak of blonde on his nose.

"Thank you." I whisper, looking at Olivia. This means more than she thinks.

Now home will always be on my mind, even in the arena.

**Lauren Cropp, 16 (written by Katrace)**

**District 10 Female**

I've worked at Woodard Ranch since I was twelve years old. I'm sixteen now.

For the whole time I've been there, I've tended to Liam's several horses. He's pretty well-off given where we live, but the only reason why I don't hate him for it is because he's actually humble. I know some bastards who shove the fact that they've got a lot of dough in your face. They need to make sure you realize their social status one hundred percent before they back off. Liam's not like that, though.

Today, he's bringing the new batch of District 11 apples and carrots to the stable, since we ran out when I was feeding Butterscotch. My coworker, Dally, bolts over to the bag and swipes it. He pulls out one of the apples and takes colossal-sized bites.

Liam just stands there, blinking his eyes in confusion. I'd do the same thing, but I don't think anyone understands that boy. They never will.

"Thanks, Liam," he says as he chomps. He needs to learn to chew with his mouth closed, that slob. He's a year older than me, but I'm so much more mature than him.

"Y'know those are for the horses, right?" our boss replies. Dally nods his head but proceeds to tell him that he was hungry. I'm not sure why he hasn't been fired yet, because he sure as hell doesn't do good at his job. Liam shrugs his shoulders as to say I-don't-see-any-point-in-asking-any-more and lets us be. When I think he's out of earshot, I turn to Dally.

"Do you ever stop eating?" I swear to Panem he can't go five minutes without putting something in his mouth. On numerous occasions, I've seen him chewing on grass, which is pretty disgusting. Plus, it's really disrespectful to the people that struggle to get food day after day. I've been there before, and I don't appreciate his nonchalant attitude about it.

"Got a problem with that?"

"What do you think, dumbass?" I retort. "Now give me the bag." When he doesn't budge, I yank it from him and grab a carrot.

I head over to Midnight's stall. I hand it out to him, feeling his saliva on my palm. A giggle slips from me. After he finishes his snack, I unlatch his door and start working on him. Since it's reaping day, Liam condensed our work hours, so he's the third horse I've had today.

Midnight's a good boy. He was the first horse I ever tended to, so I guess I have some bias. Actually, a lot of bias. I sometimes think about when I met him four years ago. Back when I was a nervous and hesitant kid, getting butterflies in my stomach from the idea of even touching a half-ton animal.

The memory comes back to me when I brush out his dappled fur after taking him for a walk around the ranch. I finish his grooming, kiss him, and creep out of the stall.

According to the analog clock on the wall, it's about ten thirty, which is when Liam said I could go—I got here at eight. I'm supposed to be home by eleven so I can get ready for the reaping at one. By foot, it takes us roughly over an hour to get to the district square, so I've gotta beat it. I scurry through the wide opening of the stable and head opposite of the hill sloping into the winding road. I live twenty minutes west of Woodard Ranch.

The sun beats down as I jog towards my house, and I can feel the perspiration seep through my clothes. It's nothing I haven't experienced, though. What do you expect when you live in the southern part of the country?

When I make it home (successfully with drawing little to no attention from Peacekeepers), I go in through the back door. The lock's a complete bust, so I don't have any problems getting in. My half brother, Arron, is hugging my mom and won't budge. He's five years old. He's still really attached to my mom and Holden—my step-dad—and can't go to sleep without them.

"Hey, Lauren," she says, "How was work?"

"Pretty good," I respond as I walk towards the bathroom.

"Give me a holler when you're done."

I open the door to the room and shut it behind me as I walk in. Stripping off my clothes, I climb into the wooden tub and undo my ponytail. The scar on my abdomen's faded over the years, but it's not going away anytime soon. But I can scrub the grime off my body, and I watch it fall into the bath.

The water's frigid, but it makes up for the heat outside. I dunk my head in there for thirty seconds, give or take. It disconnects me from all of my stresses and concerns of the day. When I need oxygen, I come back up to the surface and quickly finish my bath.

I wrap a towel around my body and another one around my hair. Then, I open the window and pour the water outside. I discreetly scale the flight of stairs to my room. The mint green dress I got for my birthday hangs off the edge of my bed, along with white knee-high socks and a pair of loafers. I let my hair and body air-dry for a while and then put on my clothes. My mom knocks on the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah." She has several supplies clutched in her hand. I sit on my bed backwards and try not to move as she starts to comb my light brown hair. I wince as she hits a tangle, gritting my teeth when she hacks through it. If you have long hair, you'd know the struggle. However, she finally manages to finish, making a fancy-schmancy ponytail with a small part of my hair wrapped around it.

"Look at yourself. You're so beautiful." She picks up the mirror on my bedside table and puts it up to my face. I turn to the side and see where the knot is. "Wanna put some blush on?" I nod my head, even though I really don't care one way or the other.

When she finishes putting on my blush, we descend downstairs. My step-dad and brothers wait by the door.

"Well, Delilah, we should be goin'," Holden says to my mom.

As we leave, I don't bother to look back. It doesn't even cross my mind.

* * *

The reaping's a really tedious and torturous process all of Panem has to go through annually, so I have to keep myself from groaning as I sign in at the front desk. The lady sitting in the chair has bug eyes and the most annoying voice you could ever imagine. I don't think she's from here; she definitely doesn't have a District 10 accent. It's really loud, and she seems like someone that would ramble.

"Name?" she says. Or rather, yells. _Seriously, woman, you're gonna make my eardrums explode._

"Lauren Cropp," I say.

Her massive eyes scan the list in front of her. She leafs through at least twenty pages to get to my name, and mine's at the beginning of the alphabet. She picks up a blue pen from the corner of the desk and marks something down.

"Fifteen times, correct?" I nod my head. They know that kind of shit about you, whether you like it or not. My family had to take tesserae for two years, back when the recession was particularly strong in our part of the district. Even though things are fairly better for us, those ten slips will never be erased from my tabs. The government's known for not letting go of the past, those bastards.

The receptionist gestures me towards the crowd of people waiting in the square. I mosey on over to the sixteen-year-old section and dissolve in the group. There's chatter all over the place, several conversations going at once.

I zone in on this girl whining about this boy. She's talking about this to some random girl next to her, but it's not like nobody else can hear.

"He's not gonna like you if you're always as annoying as that," I say. She turns around to me, staring right at me. It's like she thinks she'd freeze me with her eyes or something.

"Who asked for your opinion?"

"Common sense," I respond. She gasps, like I told her she should die in the Hunger Games. I don't know her from Adam, but I can see the type of person she is: one that doesn't like to be criticized, no matter how ridiculous she is. She needs to suck it up. Random Therapist Girl glares at me, too. So I guess they are friends.

Before I can say anything else, the escort walks up to the stage. I can't place a name on who he is, since he started just last year. But I do remember his disturbing appearance.

"Good afternoon, District 10!" he announces, acting all high-class. What a phony.

"As you may remember, I'm Horatio, and I will be aiding the two tributes from your district. I am so grateful to be here today, and I'm so excited for a new and thrilling Games. Now, I'd like all of you to give your undivided attention to your very own Mayor Hurley, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Ha, _Horatio_! If anyone thinks this dickhead's being genuine, they need serious help.

I try to tune Hurley out as he drones on and on about the history of the Hunger Games, as if we aren't reminded of it every waking hour of our lives. It's my fifth time at the reaping, and it's just the same old, same old for me. I don't see any point in listening to the clearly scripted piece of shit he reads each year. It's not even accurate!

The real story is this: because the Capitol—or as I like to call it, the _Crap_itol—can't handle the thought of someone hating them, they decided to establish the Hunger Games. Let me tell you, they're a lot more disturbing and sadistic than anything the rebels could've done.

I clench my fists as the never-ending speech continues on, and I start thinking about the Games in general. What was the point of creating them, anyway? What did those assholes want to accomplish? Maybe they should've listened to the districts. If everybody's complaining about the government, even your precious little District 1, then you need to make some changes. Just don't make kids fight to the death! It ain't rocket science!

The Crapitol hit an all-time low when Coriolanus Snow decided to take the place of his father. He's your average spoiled brat that's had everything fed to him on a silver spoon. Someone that hasn't faced adversity shouldn't be president. Panish logic confuses me.

That's not the worst of it, though. Who the fuck lets a sixteen-year-old rule a country? And someone my age! That's what I wanna know. I could do a whole lot better than him. Oh, if I had the opportunity to meet him, I would completely—

Then, everything hits me like a ton of bricks, all at once. Horatio's voice is distant, but the eight words he speaks are still audible.

"Would Lauren Cropp come up to the stage?"

I snap out of my thoughts and fantasies to see my new escort gesture towards me, inviting me to hell. _Screw you._

If there weren't Peacekeepers guarding every corner of the square, I could make a run for it. I could run away and never come back. What would stop me? Unfortunately, that's not the case.

My palms become clammy, and I wipe them on my dress. The crowd is dead with silence as I walk up to the stage. I try to keep all of my conflicting emotions bottled up until I'm in the privacy of the Justice Building, but all chances of that are nixed when I hear the first sound in the past minute or so. It's a giggle. It's definitely a girl. I know she's pretty close to me. I whip around and see Miss Over-Sensitive with a faint grin on her face. _Caught in the act._

"You bitch!" I scream, "You think that's funny?!"

"I-i-it wasn't m-me!" she stutters. Therapist Girl confirms this, but I know when someone's lying.

"Nobody has a laugh that annoying! Except maybe you!" I yell as I sock her. She starts to cry, and everybody glares at me. What a wimp.

Two Peacekeepers head towards me, but I'm not ending this without getting the last word.

"I hate you! I hate you all!" I shout as I'm dragged to the stage by those bastards. Their grip's so hard I swear my veins will pop. There's no way I'm escaping either of them. I call them some colorful words, but the only thing that does is tighten their holds. Apparently that's possible. When I'm up on the stage, the one holding onto my left arm shoves me towards the center. Both of them disperse to opposite sides of the stage.

"Well, then," Horatio says with a chuckle—again, completely fake, "Let's find out who the male tribute is!" He puts his hand in the reaping bowl and fishes around for a slip of paper. I hear the crinkle as he pulls it out, and he reads the name loud and clear.

Collin Terrence.

The kid receives several sympathetic gestures as he walks up to the stage. I see that he has the same blue eyes I do. But that's the only thing we have in common. When Horatio announces that we're the District 10 tributes (I don't know why he needs to reiterate this), Collin holds out his hand. He's not gonna stop until I grab it, so I tough it out and bring mine forward.

Then, he smiles at me. What's so happy about fighting to the death? Disgusting. I let go as soon as possible. That's not the worst he does, though.

Collin thinks it's completely okay to hold the door to the Justice Building and call me "m'lady". He's not gonna get away with crap like this during the Games, so I punch him on the shoulder as I walk inside.

I hate flirts like him.

* * *

When I'm sent to my waiting room, I look around at how freaking fancy everything is. They probably spent half of their savings on this joint. It's sickening, but it's also pretty damn impressive.

I feel uncomfortable when I sit on the velvet sofa, as if I'm invading privacy. But then I remember they completely screwed with my life, so I'm gonna give myself some credit. I hum a District 10 folk tune until my visitors come in.

My first one's Liam.

"It's been a helluva time havin' you at the ranch, Lauren," he says while shaking my hand. Actually, he's shaking my whole arm, and I swear it's gonna be dislocated sooner or later. He's right, though. Even though I'm surrounded by idiots there, there's nothing more I love than seeing Midnight, and just horses in general.

I manage to crack a small smile.

Liam's graying hair gets in his face, so the handshake is broken when he pushes it out of the way. I sigh with relief on the inside.

"Yeah. Thanks," I respond. What else am I supposed to say in this situation? Sorry Dally ate the apple? No, that's irrelevant now. Eating something you weren't supposed to pales in comparison to fighting to the death by a _lot_. In a week, he's not even gonna remember it.

"I'm gonna miss ya, kiddo." Liam's not one of those guys that gets all sentimental and mushy and emotional about things, so I'm not surprised at his relaxed approach on this. Whatever.

He slaps me on the shoulder and leaves.

I wait five minutes or so before my family comes in. When they do, Arron's holding onto Mom as usual. She has bloodshot eyes; I haven't seen them that red in a long time. Holden's standing next to them, wringing his hands. Gareth's looking around at the room, and he sucks his thumb. A knot ties in my stomach.

My mom is the first to approach me. She tells Arron to let go and walks over.

"I'm so sorry. So sorry. So, so sorry," she repeats, her petite body embracing me. I don't have the power to tell her to let go. She rubs my back. I remember when she did this as a kid, when it was one of those nights. Memories flash back to her lying in my bed, singing me a song, and holding onto me.

_Snap out of it._

"I love you so much. Why did this have to happen? Why? Why?" She says "why" until she can't breathe from crying so hard. I have to be the voice of reason here.

"It's—it's gonna be okay, Momma," I try consoling.

But we both know the truth. Anyone who begs to differ is kidding themselves. I don't have a chance against the Career tributes. A chill zaps through every part of my body. Finally, my mom releases her squeeze.

"Here," she mutters, pulling something out of her pocket. It's a necklace weaved out of grass. It's braided, and it appears to be pretty stable and not as flimsy as it seems.

"Where did you find this?" I ask.

"Your-your stepfather made it for you. A while back," she replies. I glance at Holden, and he gives the slight nod of his head.

"Thanks." He's actually a pretty nice guy, but he's a little _too_ nice, if y'know what I mean.

I turn back to my mom.

"Lauren," she says, "Please…"

"What is it?"

"Just…be careful. Think before you speak, okay? Don't-don't say what you said today." Well, that cat's outta the bag. And not speaking my mind is as unlikely as surviving these Games. But I say "all right" to appease my family.

There's a beat of silence, but Gareth's the one brave enough to break it.

"What's goin' on?" He looks right at me, and I begin to say something, except I'm not really sure what I'm thinking right now. Holden saves me.

"Your sister's gonna be gone for a while."

"How long?" My parents and I look at each other.

"We-we don't know," my mom answers. Tears fill up in her eyes again, and she tries to wipe them away. My step-dad squeezes her hand.

"Bye, sis. See ya soon," Gareth says. I ruffle his blond hair and pretend like everything's okay.

He's gonna find out about the Hunger Games in a matter of years.

He's gonna piece everything together.

He's a smart kid, I've gotta admit.

As he walks away, my mom whispers something to my youngest brother, and he comes forward. He squeezes my legs.

Then, Holden walks towards me.

"Good luck, Lauren," he tells me. "You're the best daughter I've had."

"I'm your only one," I counter. Technically, I'm his stepdaughter, but I don't bother to correct him.

"Y'know what I'm saying. Well…it's been a great nine years." I nod my head. I could agree with him somewhat. I mean, if you disregard our struggles there for a while, then it was pretty good. Whatever.

The five of us stand there in another awkward silence until a Peacekeeper tells us their time is up. Holden takes my brothers and leads them outside.

My mom, on the other hand, grabs onto me like there's no tomorrow—which I guess is true—and starts wailing again. The Peacekeeper pulls her off of me.

The last thing I see of her is her being dragged out of the room, trying to fight back. I guess she's been a fighter her whole life, even if it's not in the way you'd think.

The door slams behind them, and I'm left all alone. My mind is clouded with several thoughts right now, but there's one that's there the most.

_These bastards are gonna get it._


	11. District 12: Volunteers

**A/N (Glossy): **Alright, here is District 12. If anyone wants, please grab one of the dropouts.

**Lilac Hartland, 15 (written by klickmaster92)**

**District 12 Female**

I wake on the Reaping Day at 5:00 in the morning, like I do every day. At 5:15, after I've eaten breakfast with my father, my tutors arrive. Just because the Reapings are today doesn't mean I have any reason to stop learning. It's not like I have anything better to do. At 9:00, my educators leave, and it's just me, my father, and our staff again.

Of course, Dad's too busy today to talk about anything. He has to be out of the house and welcoming the district escort soon. He's running around searching for his glasses, his tie, his left shoe. Considering that he's the mayor of District 12, he's quite disheveled.

"Lilac," my father's voice echoes from downstairs, "have you seen my black suit jacket?"

I sigh, now standing at the top of the stairs. "Did you check your closet?"

Dad dashes up the stairs and into his room. When he comes back out into the hall, he looks like the man everyone knows him to be. The best mayor District 12's ever had. By 9:15, Dad and his assistant are out of the house. Off to the square, to meet with Azuela, ensure she's comfortable, and make a speech at two. I run around the house helping the staff clean things for about fifteen minutes before I get bored. Nothing interesting is on television right now, either, since there's no point in watching the Reapings halfway through. I plan to watch them all tonight, on the replay. Until a better idea presents itself, I figure I'll just do my history reading.

At 9:50 sharp, a gentle tap on my bedroom door signals the arrival of my best friend, Katina. I toss my book aside and jump up to greet her.

"Katina!" I say, giving her a brief and simple hug, like I always do.

""Lilac!" Her enthusiasm equals mine. She closes the door behind her and pulls a few small bottles from her bag, they're made of an intricate pattern of blue and gold glass. Something that would have had to be made in District 1. But I don't really care about their origin, or how she got them. I care about what's inside them. Raising my eyebrows at her, she giggles a bit, "It's tequila. Ash found it at the Hob, and I promise you'll love it."

Katina's boyfriend, Ash, is always finding crazy things at District 12's main illegal trade location. It makes no sense to have the entire district's black market in one building, but it's not my place to teach the district about strategy. Everyone knows we're hopeless with that. Anyway, Ash is a crazy drug addict. But as Katina puts it, "he knows his way around the female anatomy." Whatever that means. The two have been working on introducing me to the real world. I think it's ridiculous, I mean, I exist in the real world. I don't think there's anything less "real" about my world than theirs. If anything, my world is more real. I've experienced more things from more places than they have. True, I know nothing about anatomy, but I've had my hair done by the best in the Capitol, and I've worn the finest things District 8 has ever produced.

I stare at the bottle, about the size of my hand, and wonder what tequila tastes like. The smell itself is almost enough to intoxicate me. Katina pops the lid off and takes a swig. I glance up at a picture of my mother, and for a passing moment I wonder what she would think of this. She's been dead since I was two. I feel like I'm letting her - and my father - down by wanting all these experiences, but I know I'm capable of more than learning every single fact about Panem. Then again, do I really need to get drunk to understand it? No. And besides, I have to look nice today. Dad would notice if I showed up to the Reapings drunk.

"This is a terrible idea. It's Reaping Day, and I have to sit up in front of everyone. I can't be-"

"Drink it."

"Okay."

I take the incredibly beautiful bottle from her and take a small sip. It burns my throat, and for a moment, I feel like my entire body is on fire.

"So," Katina's smiling her devilish little smile, "What do you think?"

I shrug, "It's better than vodka. Now, onto a more important matter. What am I gonna wear today?" I slide my closet door open, and Katina takes another gulp of tequila and hops inside. It's 10:00.

Over the next hour, Katina and I try on different outfits, occasionally sipping from the tequila bottles. She drinks an entire bottle in about ten minutes, leaving me in complete awe. I've barely made a dent in mine. I don't know if I should be amazed by her, or if I should get her a Healer. She assures me that she's fine, takes my mostly full bottle from me, and shifts the focus back to my attire. She suggests a sexy, short, low-cut black dress, which I obviously veto, wondering how it got into my closet. At 11:30, we've decided on a blue and gray dress that shows off my assets. Or maybe Katina just said ass. I can't tell because her words are all slurred.

By noon, Katina can barely stand and I'm pretty sure she's seeing triple, my head feels a little airy, and we're out of tequila. A staff member I've never seen before comes up to bring lunch, and she gives me a questioning look upon hearing Katina's retching in the bathroom. I just shrug, not knowing what else I can do. She and I stand in silence, trying to ignore the undeniable sounds of puking in my bathroom. I take a second to look at her, she's not the kind of person you'd expect to find in 12. Shocking blonde hair, green eyes, and she's heavy. Of course, that's an accomplishment around here. I figure Katina's not hungry, and I've definitely lost any appetite I had.

Trying as hard as I can to sound polite, I say, "Sorry about that. She hasn't been feeling well all day. I don't think either of us will be having lunch today. You should take it to the Seam, they need it more than we do." The blonde lady nods and exits, lumbering down the stairs. Soon after, Katina swings the bathroom door open, leans against the doorway and sighs.

Even in her drunken stupor, she looks like she's the queen of Panem. I mean, that's not a real position, but if it were, it would be hers. And while I'm thinking this, she turns back into the bathroom and throws up some more. I sit down on my bed and desperately try to think of things other than what I'm imagining swirling around my toilet bowl right now.

At 12:30, I feel completely fine, and Katina's passed on my bed. A soft knock on my bedroom door makes her mumble something, though I can't quite make it out, and giggle. I quietly step into the hallway, ridiculously delighted to see my boyfriend - wait no, he's my fiance now I guess - standing there.

"Aidan," I smile, "hey. What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd come over and say hi. What's up with Katina?"

I sigh, "She's drunk. Sleep is good for that, right? Oh, should somebody take her back home?" Aidan's pretty experienced with those 'real world things,' and I figure he would know what to do better than I would.

Aidan, who knows everything apparently, nods. "Yeah, probably."

"Okay. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." I bolt down the stairs and almost run into the fat blonde lady. All in one breath, I say, "Hi. Remember Katina, you know, throwing up in my bathroom? Could you get her back to her house? It's near the Victor's Village, big blue house. Thanks." Before she can say no, I run back upstairs and into my room. I find Aidan lecturing Katina about who-knows-what. They kind of hate each other, though I have no idea why.

Aidan's quiet, but there's anger and disappointment just radiating from him. "If her dad finds out, he's gonna kill both of us. Katina, you can't just bring that stuff here."

"Not like you're any better," Katina's giggling again, "I know what you've been up to."

"Lilac, hey." Aidan notices me, and shuts Katina up. honestly, I'm curious about where she's going with that, but it's probably for the best that I don't know. That's how most things go. An awkward silence ensues, and it probably would go on indefinitely, but the blonde lady comes in.

She looks at us, standing around. We probably look really suspicious. "Katina, you're going home now." There's anger in her voice, too, and she makes it sound like Katina won't be coming back. Why is everyone mad at Katina?

Katina leaves, and then Aidan and I sit around for a few minutes in silence. It's 12:45. I look over at Aidan, who is usually ridiculously calm. He's looking at me, too, and I feel like he wants to have one of those silent conversations we used to have all the time. I'm not in the mood.

"We should go to the square." He says, instead of the "Sorry for being rude," that I was hoping for.

I nod, get up, and leave. I don't wait for him to follow, because I know he will. On our short walk to the square, I realize that this is really weird for me, too. Maybe I still have some tequila in my system. I usually don't expect people to feel bad about things. I don't know, maybe it's just the stress of the Reapings catching up with me. True, my name's only in the bowl about 3 times. But it's still a possibility, and that's scary, I guess. Now I'm just justifying my anger.

Aidan and I walk in silence, and then he goes off to his age group, and I head up to the stage to find my dad.

Being the mayor's daughter, I don't have to stand around for hours while the "festivities" take place. I get to sit in front of the entire district/all of Panem and watch while people are sent to the Capitol. honestly, it sounds kind of fun. It's not like anybody actually dies in the Games anyway. I mean, that would be ridiculous.

Soon after I sit down next to Azuela - did I mention that literally everyone in Panem could see me - Dad gets up to make his speech. He talks about the history of Panem, how everything's better now...I've heard it all before. He mentions me and I have to smile and wave to the cameras. Then we watch a little video from the Capitol, I've seen it several times, too. The whole thing is very mechanic, nothing new happens. Nothing unexpected. Then Azuela stands up and carefully walks to the microphone in her heels. She blabs on a bit before getting down to business.

"As always, ladies first." She dips her hand into the bowl filled with names and an eerie silence settles over the district. Nobody takes a breath. Everyone's nervous it's going to be someone they know, or themselves. I don't know why they make such a big deal about it. I mean, you get to go to the Capitol and eat Capitol food and wear Capitol clothes and it seems like it would just be fun. Azuela pulls a slip of paper out and reads, "Katina Shaw."

Crap. There's no way she's here. She could get in a lot of trouble for not being here. Crap crap crap crap crapperdoodles. My mind is kind of broke, trying to think a solution to this when it hits me.

"I volunteer!" I shout, before anyone gets suspicious about Katina's absence.  
I can almost feel everyone's eyes boring into me as I take a few steps toward Azuela. Especially my dad. He looks really mad. But I'll be fine, and I'm going to the Capitol. And I'll get all kinds of real world experience.

Azuela looks shocked, but she has to follow the escort rules or whatever. "Okay then. District 12's female tribute for the 22nd Annual Hunger Games: Lilac Hartland! Now, for the boys." She steps over to the boys' bowl, sticks her hand in, and I stop listening. I find Aidan in the crowd, and he's staring at me. He looks like he couldn't decide on his emotions. Struggling with anger and sadness, heartbreak and grief. I have no clue why, or what's going through his mind, but I can see it in his eyes.

"Jack Lestrange." Azuela reads.

A few seconds letter somebody is plowing through the boys section, and I assume he's not Jack. Azuela says something, but I'm not listening. The guy comes up and says his name, Ethan or something, but I'm still staring at Aidan. Ethan and I shake hands, and I look at him, his eyes glazed over with almost-tears. Looking at him makes me feel sad, and I don't know why. The Games aren't that big of a deal. But he looks so heartbroken that I begin to feel an ache, too. We're ushered into the Justice Building, and the doors shut behind us. Shutting our district away from us.

My dad comes in to yell at me for being so boneheaded. I don't know what that means, or why he's mad. He's the one who always told me they didn't emreally/em kill people in the Games. It was just television. Then he starts crying and I don't know what to do. "I just don't want to lose you, too." He mumbles. I'm confused by what he means, but then a Peacekeeper comes in and tells him that his time's up. Then Aidan comes in and spares me the anger and frustration.

He just kisses me and tells me it's gonna be okay. He looks like he's been crying for the past ten minutes, but I don't mention that. I just let him be all weird and affectionate until a Peacekeeper comes in and says that our time is up. Aidan slips something into my hand and says a quick "I love you." Then he's gone, too. After the door shuts, I look down at my palm and see a ring. It's simple gold, but it shimmers, as if little specks of diamonds were fixed in with it. It's my ring. I've only seen it once before, when Dad was explaining how me and Aidan's marriage would work. I'm not supposed to even look at it until I'm 18. I realize that Aidan doesn't think I'm going to come back. This is his way of saying goodbye.

And suddenly, I'm wondering just how much I really know about Panem.

**Ethan Craste, 16 (written by FireIsCatching17)**

**District 12 Male**

There were often times when I can't take it. The stress, the silent disappointment that my parents never said aloud but I can read it on their faces. Both of them had always wanted to be in the games, they were different like that. But they were too old by the time the Games started, so they tried to live their dream through me. They made me watch all 21 Games every years over and over and-

But I don't want to think about that. About the countless hours my parents forced me to learn how to survive so one day I may win the Games and make them proud. But unlike my bloodthirsty parents, I have no interest in being reaped or volunteering like they wanted. I always feel pity whenever I saw people kill someone on the screen and I will never be able to forget the faces of those tributes the second before they were about to be killed. The look of pure terror. It is etched into the front of my brain and for the longest time when I was younger that was all I saw every time I closed his eyes.

My parents would, on occasion, take me on a hunting trip in the forest. Everything would be fine, and I would almost begin to enjoy myself but then I would turn around and they would be gone. They forced me to survive on my own for the night. If I was lucky, they would find me the next day but usually I ended up being stuck for a few more, trying to survive.

I suppose I am lucky in that way. It could be worse. My parents are focused on learning and surviving. They make me read countless books about anything they got their hands on and make me memorize it. I hate it. But, they don't have me learning to kill people. At least, not the traditional way. My parents are all about the sly way of killing people. Like slipping poisonous berries into their food or drink. Though, I muse, if my parents had the resources they probably would make me.

I shuddered and shook the thoughts from my mind. No. I told myself I didn't want to think about that. Right now, I just want to swim. Swimming always clears my mind and helps me focus. I stand up on a large cliff, staring down at the water deep water beneath me. I guess I must be around a hundred feet from the water, which isn't too bad. I have never dived from this height before and am eager to feel the thrill which came whenever I jump.

Closing my eyes, I bent my knees and jump. I felt like I was soaring. A smile spreads across my face as the wind sweeps over my body, and carefully I angle myself so I don't hit the water and get flattened like a pancake. Adrenaline rushes through my veins and my mind goes blank, unable to process anything besides the thrill of the moment. As I near the water I hold my breath and then all at once my body is surrounded by water. I can feel a slight sting on my skin, but ignore it for it was not an unfamiliar sensation.

I open my eyes under the water and grin at the fish that has swum in front of me. I have always loved water and the animals that called it home, and they don't seem to mind me on most occasions. The fish bopped my nose with its mouth (which is a very slimy feeling that makes a shudder go down my spine) before swimming away into the deeper depths of the water.

When my lungs begin to burn from lack of oxygen, I kick my feet and start swimming back to the surface. I keep my eyes fixed on the sun shining through the water and when I break the surface I close my eyes and gulp in sweet, fresh oxygen.

Opening my eyes again, I shake my head and water droplets fly around as the excess water was shaken out of my hair. I look around and a smile spreads across my face once more. It was very peaceful out here, the lake was completely still other than the ripples of water that came from where I am swimming. Out of the corner of my eyes I see something move and turn my head to get a better look. At the edge of the lake staring at me, frozen in place, was a baby deer. I couldn't help the small smile that grew on my face and chuckle softly as the deer takes off like lightning a second later.

I let my gaze wander the tree tops, managing to catch a glimpse of the singing birds through the thick leaves and study the sky. The sun was almost in the middle of the sky, and I'm guessing it was probably almost time for lunch. Which meant I have to go back home and get ready for the reaping. I stifle a sigh and dive under the water one last time before I swim back to the shore. I walk across the sandy shore and grab my towel off of the rock I had laid it on, wiping the water off of my face. I sit down on the large rock on the sandy shoreline where I had placed my clothes and close my eyes. I allow the sun to dry me off, paying little attention to the thoughts in my mind and instead focusing on the weird sensation that always came when the sun dries me off.

I must have dozed off, because the next time I open my eyes the sun has moved from its spot in the sky and my stomach is growling like a beast. Damn, I thought, quickly putting on my brown trousers and white cotton shirt. I hope I won't be in trouble for being late. It was too hot to put on my brown leather hunting jacket my father had given me as a 'Good Luck I Hope You Get Reaped' present, so I grab it in my hand and after I shove my shoes back on I took off into the woods.

My lake isn't too far away from the fence, causing me to have mixed feelings about the place. It is a great place to relax but it is also so close anyone could find it if they looked hard enough. As I make my way through the familiar path in the forest, I catch sight of the fence and feel relief wash through me when I don't see any Peacekeepers standing guard. Or worse; my parents waiting for me.

With a grunt of effort, I manage to climb over the fence with little difficulty and quickly make my way back into the town. I don't have any time to stop at the Hub, but I'm not worried. I can just go after the Reaping.

I sort of thought my parents wanting me to be Reaped was a good luck charm in some insane way. It seemed they were jinxing the system. My name was in there... 40 times? I will get my rations, even though I don't need them, and give the food to the families who need it. I'm not rich by any means, but with the meat I manage to gather and the shop my parents have, I have enough to get by and then some. There was this one little boy... I love him dearly. His name is Jake, an innocent little thing who I give most of my unused rations to. He is twelve this year and attending his first Reaping.

One winter, two years ago, I found Jake begging around the town for food. Of course, no one would willingly give up their food in the middle of winter, even if it was to a ten year old boy who was starving. I couldn't give Jake any food from my house; my parents would find out and punish me so instead I went and got rations at the cost of putting my name in the Reaping bowl. To this day I'm still not quite sure why I offered to help Jake and his family. Perhaps it was because Jake was so innocent... so young. It was so rare, I wanted to keep Jake innocent.

Jake has no older siblings and his father is dead. His mother works in the Hub, but makes little money and they both live in a broken down house that looks more like a large shack then a house. I do everything I can to help them. My parents have enough money and food as it is, so all of the food I got when my parents told me to hunt, I give most of it to Jake.

I force myself to quit thinking about this. I can't get sentimental. If by some chance one of us is Reaped, then it won't be good for either of us. The Capitol doesn't care about sentimentality. They just want a good show.

I sigh and run my hand through my hair as I reach the edge of town near the Victor's Village, where the wealthier of District 12's inhabitants lived. I force myself to take a deep breath before I push the door open to my house and walk inside. I am greeted with silence, which is a nice change for once. Usually my parents will start yelling at me, demanding to know if I have done my training today or not.

I quickly head up the staircase, trying to get to my room as soon as possible before one of my parents show up. Once I get into my room, I notice the clothes lay out on the bed, my finest. My mother, no doubt. She always insists I look perfect for every Reaping. Which was stupid, I think with a scowl spreading across my face. I won't be Reaped, my parents are too hopeful I will be for that to happen.

Nevertheless, I grab the clothes and make my way to the bathroom. My mother seems to have already provided a bath with water, though the water is slightly chilled by the time I get in. So she must already be in the house somewhere, I think and close my eyes. My parents want to be able to afford a shower but do not have enough money, and I refuse to help them gather the money. They have enough as it was and there were people in the Seam who would be grateful to even have a bathtub as big as the one we have.

Once I'm done washing, I dry off and get dressed, not bothering with doing anything to my hair. My mother will complain but whatever, I don't care. After one last glance at myself in the mirror, I make my way down the wooden stairs and towards the kitchen, looking forward to getting some food in my stomach.

I have just opened the fridge when I eel hands wrap around my throat and for a split second I freeze and then stomp my foot on the ground and when I feel something soft I assume I hit a foot. The hands around his neck loosen only a fraction but it is enough. Prying myself out of the grip I then kick backwards as hard as I can before spinning around, ready to attack again.

My mother is standing across from me with an approving look in her eyes but not a smile on her face. I have never seen her smile before. "Good. Better. Much better."

I roll my eyes and turn back around to get food. My stupid parents were always doing this, I think to myself angrily as I pull a sandwich from the fridge and sit down at the dinner table with a huff. Always 'training' me and keeping me on edge. The only time I ever get to relax is when I am at the lake.

"Hurry up, Ethan, we don't want to be late for your Reaping." They always say it like that. Like the Reaping is meant for him and only him. I quickly finish my sandwich and follow my mother out of the house.

We meet up with my father on our way to the Town Square where the Reaping would take place this year. On the way there he gives the same lecture and I give into the same thoughts of punching him in the face to make him shut up. I try my best not to look bored as my finger is pricked and I am sent to stand with the other boys. I don't think I succeeded though, because when my eyes meet Jake's, who is standing with the younger boys, Jake giggles and makes a funny face. I chuckle under my breath and do the same to amuse him. Anything to keep Jake from freaking out over the Reaping. We continue to make weird faces at each other throughout the stupid videos they play and I have to choke back my laughter when I hear the loud screech as the microphone is tapped.

I scowl at the woman standing there. Her name is Azuela, I have met her a few times and hate her. I wish Lillian was still representing District 12. She was so much nicer but rumor has it she has gotten a job promotion elsewhere within the Capital. "Welcome one and all to the 22nd Hunger Games! Aren't you all excited?" She beams at the crowd but no one speaks. Of course no one here is excited, why should we be?

She sighs and then smiles at us again. Gosh, I can't wait until this is all over. "Alright then! As always... ladies first." She daintily makes her way over to the bowl and sticks her hand in. The entire District seems to hold its breath as her hand sifts through the folded papers. When she finally pulls one out and walks to the microphone, no one moves. No one breathes.

"The female tribute of District 12 is Katina Shaw."

I let out a breath of relief when I realize it wasn't anyone I know, and zone out during the rest, staring down at the ground. I am trying to decide if I should go hunt after this or go for a swim. I'm not worried about getting caught, why should I be? After all, no one is crazy enough to try and climb the 'electric' fence. I let out a soft sigh and force myself to pay attention as Azuela walks over to the boys bowl and pulls out a piece of paper. I stare up at her, wondering who is going to be the unlucky boy this time, but when I hear the name I almost have a heart attack. The world seemed to freeze around me.

"Jack Lestrange."

No. No no no. Not Jack, it couldn't be. I had promised that Jack wouldn't be reaped. My entire body seems completely frozen and I can't move or talk. My vocal chords aren't working and I can only stare helplessly as Jack slowly starts walking forward, escorted by the Peacekeepers. Then Jack turns and looks at me, and there are tears streaming down his face and I snap. I start shoving people out of my way in my desperate attempt to get to Jack. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel every. Thump thump thump.

My mouth is open and he I'm yelling something but I can't tell what was coming out of my mouth because all of the sudden Jack was running towards me and hugging me and crying into my shoulder. I am saying something, but I don't know what. I finally am able to realize I'm continually muttering 'I volunteer' under my breath over and over. Then someone is grabbing my shoulder and pulling me and Jack apart. There are tears in Ethan's eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I would not allow the other tributes to see me as weak. Jack is sobbing and screaming, begging for them not to take me. I feel a strange numbness trickle through me and I allow myself to be led up next to Azuela, though I don't take her hand when she offers her help. "Well this certainly is... different." She says in that stupid perky voice of hers.

I am only half listening. I'm staring at Jack who has hidden his face in his mother's clothing who is also crying. With grief or relief I cannot tell. I refuse to look at my parents, for I know I will only see pride and smugness in their eyes and that is the last thing I want. I can feel... well no. I can't feel. Everything was just sort of... numb. It is shock, my mind told me that. I read about the symptoms of it and know that it happens all the time to the people who re Reaped. Or in my case... volunteered.

I must have tuned out again because the next thing I know Azuela is asking my name and I'm telling her and then it is over. She told us to shake hands and I do, staring at the girl across from me and vaguely realizing it is the mayor's daughter. But the mayor's daughter's name isn't Katrina. It is something else. The shake seemed to pull me together and I don't bother thinking about it anymore. It doesn't matter; we'll probably end up trying to kill each other anyway. My thoughts clear, and though my heart is heavy with grief, I cast one last look at Jack before I allow myself to be led inside of the town hall.

I never thought this would happen. Never thought I would volunteer. But I realize in that moment that when it came down to it... I will do anything to keep Jack safe. And I will make it back. I will make it back to him and prove myself to my parents.

The wooden doors weren't locked, I know that. I also know that right outside the door is only a single Peacekeeper. I suppose I could take out the Peacekeeper, easily, and run away so I won't have to compete in the Games. But there was a part of me that refused to go anywhere, to run away. It would be too cowardly and I am anything but a coward.

It is small office, where I was shoved into. It is vaguely familiar. I remember being in here once or twice to try and convince the mayor to give me extra rations (it didn't work). It seemed a lot more inviting back then. Sun used to stream through the open windows and give the wood a warm sort of glow. The trinkets that were on the desk would glint when the light hit it and I remember the warm smile of the mayor and the apologetic voice that seemed to flow easily through the room.

It isn't like that now.

Now the windows re boarded shut with planks of wood and the sun that I know is shining against the wood barely sneaked in through the cracks, only a small stream of light here and there. The desk is empty and as I run a finger across the rich oak wood, I notice it has a fine layer of dust on it. The warm smile that used to light up the room is gone. The room is exactly the same but completely different.

I pin around when I hear the door open behind me and I see Jack running towards me with tears streaming down my face. I bend down and hug him tightly, Jack practically clinging to me. The little boy buries his face in my shoulder and I can feel the tears soaking through the thin fabric of my shirt. Gazing upwards, I meet the tear-filled eyes of Jack's mother who stands in front of the door. Her eyes seem to express a hundred emotions at once and I give her a small nod and a smile before I turn my attention back to Jack.

I put my hands on Jack's shoulders and gently pull him away from me. "Jack," I say softly. The young boy is still crying and not meeting my eyes. "Look at me." I say firmly, but gently. Slowly, Jack's bright blue gaze met mine and I smile. "Don't worry. This isn't your fault, I'll be fine."

Jack sniffed and angrily rubbed his eyes with his hands. "B-But you're going..."

I cut him off. "I will be fine Jack." I try to sound confident, even when in my heart I am absolutely terrified. "Hey, listen to me." I rub Jack's back soothingly, an action so instinctual I don't even realize I am doing it. "I'm strong. I'm smart."

Jack slowly started to nod, realizing where I am going with this. He gave me a watery smile. "You're really smart. You could probably outsmart everyone, right?"

I felt relief wash through my body and ruffled his hair. "That's right." I lied. Not everyone. I knew there will be people smarter than me, better than me. But I'll be damned if I'm not going to try my hardest to be the victor. My heart seems to constrict when I see the door open and the Peacekeeper demand for them to leave. "Hey, hey." I try to get Jack's attention. His eyes had flashed in panic and he spun around to look at the guard but I made him refocus his attention on me. "I will win." I promise Jack, even as the Peacekeepers start dragging him out. "Stay strong, Jack!" I yell right before the doors slam shut and I am left alone once again.

A lone tear slips out of my eye and tumbles down my cheek and I make no move to wipe it away. That is quite possibly the last time I will ever get to see Jack again. It made me angry, made rage bubble in my veins and I wanted to punch something. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!

I'm not left alone for very long though. I hear the door open again and when I turn around my mother and father are standing in front of the door, both looking very proud. My mother walks up to me and kisses my forehead. "I'm so proud of you. I knew this was your day."

My father walks over and claps me on the back. "Congratulations son," he beams, so proud one would think I have just become President of the Capitol. "You'll make us proud. I know it."

I felt something being pressed into my hand and confused, I look down at it. My mother has put a small necklace in my hand. It was a simple golden chain and a swirl of metal made to look like a flame. I don't know what to say. I look up at both of my parents and realize in that moment, that even though they show it in a different way, they do love me and are proud of me. I realize it too late though. Clutching the necklace tightly, I hug both of my parents before they are forced to leave and I am left alone with my thoughts.


End file.
